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SEVENTY-FIVE COPIES OF THIS BOOK HAVE 
BEEN PRINTED FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION 
BY THE AUTHOR 



Jlroolr ^ousJe 



A Play in Four Acts 



BY 



GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON 




NEW YORK, MCMX 






'M 



Copyright, 1910 
George Barr McCutcheon 

All Rights Reserved 



THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 



!CI,A2739Nf.i 



J 



BROOD HOUSE 



DRAMATIS PERSON^E 

James Brood, master of the house. 
Yvonne Brood, his wife. 
Frederic Brood, his son. 

i^ r^ > old friends of Brood. 

Danbury Dawes i 

Lydia Desmond, Brood's secretary. 

Ranjab, a Lascar servant. 

Bertie Gunning, a New Yorker. 

Maisie Gunning, his wife. 

Doctor Hodder, the famous surgeon. 

Miss Followell, an old maid. 

Janey Followell, her young sister. 

Miss Oliver, a nurse. 

Parker, a manservant. 

A Chauffeur. 

Time: The Present. Place: New York City. 

Act First. James Brood's Study, 9 p. m. 

Act Second. James Brood's Study, 10 p. m., ten days later. 

Act Third. James Brood's Study, twenty minutes later. 

Act Fourth. Garden at James Brood's House, six weeks later. 



BROOD HOUSE 



ACT FIRST 

Time, the present, the month being March. The home 
of James Brood is one of the old-fashioned houses 
in lower New York. It is nine o'clock. The 
curtain rises on a richly-furnished room of a 
purely oriental type, rather closely boxed. There 
is a subdued red light from the Indian and Bur- 
mese lamps and fireplace at right. The walls are 
draped with rich oriental hangings, weapons, 
shields, rugs, etc. A large ''Buddha'' stands on a 
pedestal near center of stage, pretty well down, fac- 
ing a richly carved table of ebony and teakwood. 
A large white elephant stands on the upper end of 
the table which is covered with writing materials 
and books. An oriental tea-table stands at lower 
left, with an ottoman behind it, in a sort of nook 
above first entrance, forming a corner which ex- 
tends into the room for perhaps six feet, running 
up at an angle. A window into a jade room in 
this wall is visible. There are oriental chairs 
I3l 



BROOD HOUSE 



about the room. This room is Mr. Brood's own 
and is immediately beneath the roof. In fact^ 
the rear wall is but eight feet high, the ceiling 
sloping forward and upward with the roof of this 
particular gable. In the middle of the rear wall 
there is a large window looking out over the house- 
tops, the shades being down at present and of a 
rich oriental color. There is a broad seat in this 
window, the windows open on hinges, inward. 
When the shades are up, lights in the upper parts 
of distant buildings may he seen, with the roofs 
and chimney pots. The windows form a niche in 
the wall, apparently a gable. A curtained door 
opens off R. U. E., while another leads off L. 2 E. 
into a hall. An Indian buffet stands at the ex- 
treme right. On the center table there is a large 
Burmese gong, by which the servant is called. 
The door at R. U. E. leads to a stairway, off 
stage, up which every one has to climb in reaching 
this room under the roof. One has the effect of 
seeing all entrants coming up from below. 

The stage is empty when the curtain rises. 

Enter from R., puffing, two old men, both in 

smoking-jackets and carpet slippers, carelessly 

clad in every respect, and not in evening clothes. 

They are smoking meerschaum pipes. Mr. Joseph 

[4l 



BROOD HOUSE 



Riggs is sixty-five^ and Mr. Danhury Dawes is a 
year or two older. They are gossipy, querulous old 
chaps, lazy and utterly shiftless, worse than two 
old women. Dawes wears thin gray whiskers and 
Riggs is close-shaven. A piano in a distant room 
is playing ^^ La Paloma." 

Riggs. [Comes down to the table and angrily 
pushes the papers about, looking at his watch. Both 
appear to be annoyed, Dawes listening at the door.] 
Well, it 's nine o'clock. I wonder if he thinks I 'm 
going to sit up all night and wait till he gets through 
fooling with those ninnies he 's got downstairs. I 'm 
getting tired of this sort of thing. I won't stand 
it. We might just as well be a couple of — er — a 
couple of — What.f* 

Dawes. [Coming down, dismally.] I did n't say 
what. 

Riggs. You did n't.^* Well, a couple of what-you- 
call-'ems. See what I mean? 

Dawes. [Positively.] Certainly. We might just 
as well, I agree with you. It 's most annoying. But, 
I — I sometimes wonder if he can help it. 

Riggs. Help it.^ He did n't have to get married, 
did h.e'i Answer me that. 

Dawes. Now, see here, Joe, don't blame me for 
l5] 



BROOD HOUSE 



that. You put everything upon me. You blamed 
me because it rained yesterday. I — 

RiGGS. Forgive me, old man. It 's because I 'm 
irritated. Jim treats us like dogs. And dogs some- 
times turn, you know. [Lays his hand on the other^s 
shoulder.] 

Dawes. I thought it was worms, old man, but — 
but never mind. Will you have a highball.'' [Going 
to the buffet and trying the door. To his surprise it is 
locked.] 

RiGGS. Well — if you insist. What 's that.? 
Locked .f* Well, I'm damned! Now, that's a de- 
liberate, intentional insult. It 's an affront that I 
can't overlook, Danbury. Can't you find the key 
anywhere.'' 

Dawes. [Searching the top.] It is n't here. I say, 
Joe, would you mind looking through your pockets.'' 
It — 

RiGGS. [Starts to search and then desists, indig- 
nantly.] What do you mean, sir.'' 

Dawes. [Hastily.] I meant to say, ring the bell 
for Ranjab. [Riggs glares at him for a moment and 
then pounds the gong viciously.] Jim 's got no right 
to lock the whiskey up like this. He 's never done 
it before. 

RiGGS. Nice way to treat his guests. [Half cry- 
[6] 



BROOD HOUSE 



ing.] And old friends like we are, too. He forgets 
that we shared our whiskey with him in the old 
days — and he needed it, too. I call it most 
ungrateful. 

Dawes. [Dazed.] It 's that damned wife of his. 
Joe, we made a terrible mistake in permitting him 
to get married again. I '11 never forgive myself for 
that. Never! 

RiGGS. Danbury, don't blame yourself for that, 
old pal. I 'm as much to blame as you. Besides, 
confound him, he went off and did it without saying 
a word to us. I — I don't suppose there 's anything 
we can do about it now. 

Dawes. No. They 've been married nearly a year. 
But the idea of him bringing a wife in here without 
saying anything about it. It was sickening. Ring 
that bell again! 

RiGGS. Oh, he did telegraph to Lydia. [Rings gong.] 

Dawes. But Lydia is n't us. fFe were his friends. 
Who's Lydia.? Nobody. He's charitable enough 
to give her a home here because she 's the daughter 
of dear old Jack. By thunder, he 'd never have done 
this if Jack Desmond were alive. No, sir — ee! As 
long as Jack was here, there was some order in the 
house. Poor old Jack! 

RiGGS. [Almost weeping on the other's shoulder.] 
[7] 



* BROOD HOUSE 



When Jack died he — he spoiled everything. And, 
hang it all, he was n't an old man. 

Dawes. Well, he 'd been married a long time. 

RiGGs, Pooh ! He was a widower for ten or twelve 
years. You forget that. 

[Enter Ranjab, a Lascar, leisurely from door at 
L, Ranjab is a brown-skinned, straight-haired, 
smooth-faced fellow of fifty, dressed as the ordi- 
nary butler. He has small rings in his ears; a 
set, stern visage.] 

Dawes. Who the devil locked this door, Ranjab.'' 

Ranjab. [Pausing up stage, stoically.] I did, Mis' 
Dawe. 

Dawes. Well, unlock it. 

Ranjab. I have not the key. 

RiGGS. Where is it? 

Ranjab. It is in the left han' pocket of the 
master's trousers. 

RiGGS. Has he got 'em on? 

Ranjab. I have not seen the master since he went 
down to dinner. [As an afterthought.] But there are 
ladies present. 

Riggs. Ranjab, are you just a dam' fool, or do 
you think I am? 

Ranjab. I came from the East, Mis' Rigg. 



BROOD HOUSE 



RiGGS. [Reflectively — to Dazves.] That means he's 
a wise man. 

Dawes. [Sputtering bravely, hut at the same time a 
trifle nervously as he advances to Ranjab.] That 's 
neither here nor there. Ranjab, do you expect us 
to kick in that cupboard door in order to get a 
drink.? Open it at once, sir! Remember, we are 
guests in this house and we — 

Ranjab. [Staring straight ahead.] It is not to be 
opened. 

RiGGS. What! You mean — 

Ranjab. The master has given orders, sir. That's 
all. 

Dawes. [Melting.] Well, of all the humiliating — 
oh, oh! Why, that has been an open cupboard ever 
since we came here to visit Jim Brood, eleven years 
ago. You know it has! We 've had the freedom 
of that cupboard — 

RiGGs. It's dastardly! By gad, sir, I shall leave 
this house at once. I shall not submit to this in- 
dignity. A gentleman is a gentleman, sir! What 's 
that.'' [Fiercely to Dazves.] 

Dawes. Confound you, sir, I did n't say he was n't. 
What the devil are you looking at me for.? Ranjab, 
I '11 give you two seconds to open that cupboard, or 
I '11 complain to Mr. Brood. 

[9] 



^ 



BROOD HOUSE 



Ranjab. [Merely nods his head and stands passive. 
The two look at him expectantly for a moment and then 
bristle.] 

Dawes. Perhaps you did n't hear me. 

Ranjab. The master gave strict orders, sir. He 
has guests for dinner and he is to have them up here 
afterwards for the magic. He says he will not have 
his guests find you here drunk as night before last. 
The ladies thought you were dead. One of them 
fainted. [Exit quietly at L.] 

[They watch him depart^ petrified. Then turn 
to look at one another^ trying to speak^ hut power- 
less to do so.\ 

RiGGS. [Gulping.] What do you suppose is the 
matter with Jim Brood.? Is he crazy.'' Why, I 
have n't been drunk in ten years. 

Dawes. I don't remember seeing any ladies up 
here night before last. I sat right there in that chair 
all evening and I '11 swear I did n't see anybody. 

RiGGS. All evening? I sat over there on that 
couch until morning and did n't see anybody. It 's 
a dam' lie, that 's what it is. 

Dawes. His wife 's at the bottom of it. She 's 
a cat! 

RiGGS. And after all we 've done for him, too. 
[lo] 



BROOD HOUSE 



[Sniffiing.] I Ve stuck by him like a brother for 
eighteen years. He has no right to forget those days 
in Turkestan and Thibet. We were good enough for 
him then. 

[Enter Lydia Desmond, L., sauntering slowly, 
her hands behind her hack, as if in deep thought. 
She is quietly attired in black, high neck, etc. 
Hatless. She is young and very pretty, with a 
thoughtful, sensitive expression. Seeing the two 
old men, who have turned to stare dejectedly at the 
buffet, she stops near the table.] 

Lydia. Oh, good-evening. 

RiGGS. [Turning fiercely.] Lydia Desmond, your 
poor, dead father has been insulted in this house to- 
night. Basely insulted! 

Dawes. I should n't be surprised if he were turn- 
ing over in his grave this very minute. 

Lydia. [Quietly.] Dear me, and now what has 
Mrs. Brood done-f* 

RiGGS. Please don't interrupt! Go on, Danbury. 

Dawes. Goon.'' I can't say any more than that, 
can l^ He could n't stand on his head! 

Lydia. Mr. Dawes! Please, please remember. 

Dawes. I beg your pardon, Lydia — a thousand 
[II] 



BROOD HOUSE 



times, dear child, and so does Joseph Riggs. [Crosses 
to her.] 

Riggs. What have I to apologize for? But 
[quietly] I do, just the same, dear girl. [Jlso crosses.] 

Lydia. Something has tried you dreadfully, you 
dear, silly old children. What is it? 

Riggs. Brood has practically ordered us out of 
his house — after all these years. 

Lydia. I don't believe it. [She sits in the easy- 
chair at the desk.] 

Dawes. He never locked anything up when your 
father was alive. 

Riggs. Lydia, my child, you showed extreme 
good sense in leaving this house when you did. You 
have escaped ignomy such as — such as — Oh, by 
the way, you don't happen to have the key to that 
cupboard do you? 

Lydia. Oh, that's it, is it? He has at last come 
to realize that he must keep it under lock and key. 
Well, you dear old ninnies, it was the only way. 
Come now, cheer up! He'll unlock it to-morrow. 
[She toys absently with a paper-knife.] Frederic says 
that you were perfectly disgusting night before last. 
Mr. Brood was never so mortified. [She glances at 
Dawes^ who fidgets.] 

Riggs. [Glaring at Dawes.] Yes, and they say 

[12] 



BROOD HOUSE 



that one of the women fainted when she saw you. 
If a man can't drink without making a hog of him- 
self he 'd better — 

Dawes. If you were not so confounded old, I 'd 
punch your head, Joe Riggs. 

Lydia. Sh! They '11 hear you downstairs. There's 
a dinner party, don't forget. 

Riggs. Yes, and we 're left out of it. That 's just 
it. We 're chucked off to bed, so to speak. We never 
get anywhere any more. Is that the way it used to 
be? No! Oh, it brings tears to my eyes when I 
think of the jolly times we had here before she came. 
And, say, Lydia, Frederic used to treat us differently 
before his new step-mother came, let me tell you 
that. He treats us — his father's best friends and 
protectors — as if we were dogs. 

Dawes. No, no , Joseph. Permit me to differ. 
He treats his dogs beautifully. 

Riggs. Right! That woman has turned him 
against us, his father's oldest friends, Lydia — 
and she 's turned him against you, too — John 
Desmond's daughter. I notice you did n't stay in 
the house long after she came. Huh! You were 
smart enough to get out. You, John P. Desmond's 
daughter, too. [Sadly.] Ah, it was different when 
we were all living here together. But see what she 's 

I 13] 



BROOD HOUSE 



M 



done! Dawes and I driven out of our own bed- 
rooms and made to sleep in the fourth floor back — 
the damnedest little room I ever saw — and not 
allowed to see company when it comes. We 're 
shooed off like lepers. Are we invited down to their 
fine dinners.'' No, sir — ee! Not wel We eat in 
the butler's pantry. Just where you 'd be eating if 
you had n't gone to live with old Mrs. Davis across 
the street. Just a common boarder, and your father 
saved Jim Brood's life three times in the Himalayas, 
and once in Borneo. It 's a fine way he keeps his 
compact. We four old comrades were to stick to- 
gether until we died — he swore we should. He has 
the money — he 's always had it — and we have n't 
a penny, just because we believed in him and did n't 
think it necessary — er — to save anything. He 's 
got a fine home and he said we 'd always have his 
roof over our heads. And your head, too. Now 
what — 

Lydia. [Who has been toying with the knife, while 
Dawes dozes in a chair near by.\ Now, Mr. Riggs, 
speak for yourself — not for me. I am contented, 
remember that. Mr. Brood is good to me — he al- 
ways has been — and he is more than good to you. 
His wife has a right to conduct her own household 
as she chooses. She is the mistress; if she chooses 

[14] 



BROOD HOUSE 



to have you sleep in the back room, it is her affair, 
not yours. You can always leave, you know. 

RiGGS. You forget, my dear, that we swore on 
our sacred word to live — intact — under this roof 
with James Brood. Do you suppose that we can 
lightly break a promise we made twelve years ago? 

Dawes. [Correcting.] Eleven — eleven years. 

RiGGS. And yet, I am tempted to do it, 'pon my 
soul. I 'm tired of being put upon. She has spoiled 
everything, coming into the family like this. Why, 
hang it all, she has the best bedroom in the house — 
the one I used to have. See — you can see it from 
here. Going up and pointing off L. through the 
big windows, downward, as if to the second floor.] It 
faces the garden and has the only balcony about the 
place. It makes me mad every time I see her stand- 
ing out there, looking at the moon, surrounded by 
vines and honeysuckles — and — all that sort of 
thing. She knows when I 'm looking, too; she poses. 

Dawes. Hang me, if I 'd look at her. 

RiGGS. You! Yo*u've got the opera glasses all 
the time. [To Lydia.] We can see quite plainly 
from our room, my dear. 

Lydia. For shame. To peep. 

Dawes. Well, she 's good-looking, in a way. And, 
hang it all, we 're not much older than Jim Brood. 

[15I 



BROOD HOUSE 



He 's fifty if he 's a day. The idea of him marrying 
a woman of thirty. I 'II bet my hat, she serves him 
just as rotten as the other one did. 

Lydia. Remember, you are not to talk scandal. 

RiGGS. Well, his first wife did run away with her 
music master, didn't she? That's not idle gossip. 
Even her husband knew that — and her son ought 
to know it by this time. 

Lydia. But that was more than twenty years ago. 
Why bring it up now.? Mr. Brood is happy. He 
has forgotten her. 

Dawes. Took him a long time to do it, my dear. 
That 's how he happened to be roaming all over the 
world like a lost soul for years and years, leaving 
this comfortable house that his granddad built for 
all the little Broods to come. He was nearly all in 
when we met him in Calcutta. That was twenty 
years ago, and we 've never been separated since 
that day. Your father and Joe Riggs and I, we 
three, came upon him in a den of iniquity in Cal- 
cutta. We took him up, and if I do say it, we saved 
him, stranger though he was. Your father has told 
you how the four of us roamed in all parts of the 
world for nearly ten years. Jim Brood has a fortune, 
but he did n't object to helping us look for three 
more. We — we never found 'em, as you know. 

[i6] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Lydia. Poor old dad! It wasn't a fortune he 
sought. 

RiGGs. He was after knowledge. I never knew 
such a man for exploring. Danbury, do you remem- 
ber that trip into Central Africa in search of the 
mysterious pygmy people.? 'Gad, that was an ex- 
pedition. We lived for months on — 

Lydia. I know, Mr. Riggs. I 've heard of it a 
thousand times. My mother kept his letters, and I 
still have them. I know his letters by heart. Mr. 
Brood wants to put them into the new book. He has 
offered to pay me for them, but I — of course, I 
can't accept anything for them. They really are a 
part of the book, don't you think.'' 

Dawes. The best part of it, I 'd say. T say, 
Lydia, how far along are we in the work.'' 

Lydia. Mr. Brood expects to finish your expedi- 
tion into Thibet next week. I have brought back 
the last batch of manuscript and notes, which I 
finished copying to-day. He wants to read the last 
chapter aloud to his friends to-night. It 's a par- 
ticularly thrilling adventure. 

RiGGs. If your father only could have lived until 
we finished the work. Ah, he could write! 

Lydia. Mr. Brood is splendid. There could be 
no improvement. 

[17] 



BROOD HOUSE 



RiGGS. I 'd like to see how he 'd get along if he 
did n't have Danbury and me to help him. Why, 
we really suggest nearly everything. 

Dawes. And I '11 bet my hat we don't get a word 
of credit when the thing is published. It will be all 
Brood. His wife will see to that. We won't even 
be paid for our part of the work. You get something 
out of it as his secretary. 

RiGGS. Twenty-five dollars a week! No girl on 
earth ever was worth that much. 

Lydia. Oh, boys, boys! Be quiet! Don't nag so. 
I am so tired I scarcely can hold up my head. [She 
drops forward^ whereupon both men are instantly soli- 
citous — faniiing her and patting her shoulders.] 

Dawes. Don't, don't, Lydia! Don't cry. Joseph, 
do you see what I mean when I say it is criminal to 
keep that cupboard locked.^ Kick in the door, 
Joseph. I '11 stand by anything you do. 

[Enter Frederic Brood, L., stopping just in- 
side the door with a movement of annoyance at 
seeing the others there. He is a tall youth of 
twenty-one or twenty-two, dark-skinned and eager- 
eyed. His face has an insolent, overhearing ex- 
pression; his voice is sharp and imperative. After 
a quick glance of indecision down the stairway, he 
[i8] 



BROOD HOUSE 



comes forward, stopping near the table to look in 
wonder at the bent head of the girl.] 

Frederic. {Turning savagely to the two old men, 
who fall back timorously.] What have you been say- 
ing to her? [Lydia rises instantly and pulls herself 
together]. 

Lydia. [Hastily.] Nothing, Frederic, — nothing! 
I was just complaining of a — of a headache. 

RiGGS. She 's got a perfect right to have a head- 
ache, Frederic. 

Frederic. [Crossly, to both men.] Get out! 

Dawes. But your father asked us to wait for him 
here. 

Frederic. He thinks you 're in bed. 

RiGGS. I never expected to live to hear the son of 
James Brood speak like this to me. Your father's 
life-long friend — 

Frederic. Get out, I say. Don't go, Lydia. 

Lydia. You should n't speak like that to the poor 
boys, Frederic. 

Dawes. I '11 stay right here until your father tells 
me to go. I don't recognize your authority, young 
man. [He goes over with great dignity and sits upon 
the divan in the corner.] 

RiGGS. I don't believe that even your father's wife 
[19] 



BROOD HOUSE 



can turn him completely against us. She 'd like to 
see us in the gutter or the poorhouse — 

Frederic. That will do, Mr. Riggs. You talk too 
much! 

Riggs. I won't stand any more of — [looks quickly 
about and sees that Dawes has left him. His nerve 
fails. Then, bracing up, he walks stiffly over and sits 
down beside his friend.] 

Dawes. [Angrily.] You do talk too much. 

Lydia. [Smiling sadly, as they look at the stiff old 
men.] Frederic, you are too harsh with them. You 
once were so kind and patient. They — they can't 
understand the change. 

Frederic. Oh, they get on my nerves. 

Lydia. [After a moment's look at his sullen face.] 
Mrs. Brood's nerves are affected by them, too. 

Frederic. [Roughly.] Well, what 's that got to 
do with it.^ 

Lydia. And you 've never spoken to me in just 
that tone before. Good-night! Will you tell your 
father I could n't wait.'' 

Frederic. Wait a minute, Lydia. I 'm sorry. I 
did n't mean to be rough. I 'm — I 'm not well. 
'Gad, I believe I 've got a fever. Don't go — I — I 
have n't treated you as nicely as I should of late. I 'm 
worried about business. I say, Lydia, wait for me 

f20l 



BROOD HOUSE 



in the picture gallery. I '11 be there in a minute or 
so. [Points of L.] 

Lydia. Don't be hard on the poor old boys. 
[Going, with a smile of happiness in her eyes, lighting 
up a face that had been somber and hurt.] 

Frederic. I '11 promise. They don't deserve 
kindness, though. They 're the worst old meddlers 
and busybodies in the universe, Lydia. They 're 
regular cats. Why, they've gone to father with 
complaints against Mrs. Brood. Who are they.? 
Pensioners, that 's all. He 's keeping 'em for the 
rest 0[ their useless old lives — out of pure sentiment. 

Lydia. Please, please, Frederic. You must not 
forget that I am a charity patient. 

Frederic. Oh, nonsense! It isn't the same. 
Your father was a big man. He was a real help to 
Dad. These old guys are bluffs. Look at them! 

[They smile at the picture of the old men pouting.] 

[Enter Mrs. Brood quickly, R., stopping just 
inside the door. She is attired in evening gown of 
black, covered with spangles. Dark, Hungarian 
type. A huge ruby sunburst hangs from her neck, 
gleaming against the white skin, the only bit of 
color about her. The others turn at once, Frederic 
stepping forward, with a nervous, apologetic air.] 

[21] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Mrs. Brood. [Coming down, smiling graciously 
upon Lydia.] Why, good-evening, Miss Desmond. 
So good to see you. Are — are you stopping over 
night? [Drawling, with a perceptible sneer.] 

Lydia. [Palpably embarrassed and wounded.] No, 
Mrs. Brood. Mr. Brood asked me to come over with 
the last bit of manuscript. I was to wait for him — 
for you all up here. [Suddenly cold and dignified.] 
No, I 'm not stopping over night. [To Frederic, who 
is fidgeting nervously.] I '11 wait in the picture gal- 
lery, Frederic. 

[Exit Lydia, L.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Looking after her with a smile of 
derision, then turning to Frederic, softly, reprovingly.] 
You should n't have secrets from your mother. I 
thought that was all over. 

Frederic. [Biting his lips.] Oh, she 's all right, 
Yvonne. I did n't know she was here. Dad 's very 
fond of her. 

Mrs. Brood. [Eying him mockingly.] You 've 
always told me that. She 's not fond of me. 

Frederic. [Wryly.] Well, you 're not especially 
fond of her. She is a fine girl. 

Mrs. Brood. I daresay. You 've known her so 
much longer than I. You see, she chose to move out 
when I moved in. 

[22] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Frederic. Oh, I say, now — that sounds rather — 
[He suddenly remembers the two old men, and, after 
a quick glance, leans over and whispers an injunction 
in her ear, which causes her to look upon the old men 
for the first time. She sees Riggs with his hand to his 
ear in effort to hear their remarks from across the room. 
Both old men still are sitting stiffly, hut trying to see 
the others out of the corners of their eyes.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Coldly.] You said there would be 
no one up here. 

Frederic. Well, I told them to get out. 

[Mrs. Brood crosses slowly towards Riggs and 
Dawes, a hard smile on her lips. As she ap- 
proaches, they nervously begin to adjust their ties 
and ^^ pretty up'^ generally, arising with some 
celerity.] 

Riggs and Dawes. Good-evening, Mrs. Brood. 
Mrs. Brood. [Still smiling, and after a deliberate 
pause.] Good-night! 

{They stare irresolutely for a moment and then 
bow meekly.] 

Riggs and Dawes. Good-night, Mrs. Brood, 
a 23 ] 



BROOD HOUSE 



[They cross hastily toward the door at L., very 
stiff-backed. Frederic has walked up and is stand- 
ing near the window, his hand to his mouth.] 

■RiGGS. [To Dawes in a sharp undertone.] And just 
to think of it, Danbury, we used to stand up and 
fight tigers in India. 

[Exit Riggs and Dawes hastily L.] 

Frederic. [Coming down, ruefully.] Poor old boys ! 

Mrs. Brood. [Coolly, sitting on the divan.] Is this 
an inebriates' asylum.'' Or a home for sentimental 
paupers.'' Please, Frederic, remember that I am of 
quite another world. Your father told me of you, 
but he did n't tell me of the "old boys." He told me 
of this great old-fashioned house, and of this den on 
the top floor, and the jade room there, and the 
picture room down the hall, and — and of Buddha 
to whom he tells his secrets when the rest of us are 
asleep. I expected all of these things, but not the 
"poor old boys." They spoil the fairy story, Frederic. 

Frederic. [Sitting behind her.] But they were his 
pals and he loves them. Of course, I can see how 
they might not have appealed to you. 

Mrs. Brood. They don't like me. Why should I 
like them.'' 

Frederic. They 're jealous. 
[24] 



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Mrs. Brood. Of me.'' Pooh! Your milk and 
white young lady does n't like me, either. Is she 
also jealous.? 

Frederic. She is not in love with father. 

Mrs. Brood. But she is in love with my step-son. 

Frederic. Step-son! You have no idea how 
funny it sounds to hear you call me step-son. 
Why, you seem no older than I. [Eafi^erly.] 

Mrs. Brood. Nonsense! I 'm ages older than 
you. [Impressively.] And a Hungarian woman at 
twenty-nine is ten years older than an American 
man at thirty-nine. 

Frederic. 'Gad, I believe you — in everything 
but looks. 

Mrs. Brood. You like me a little — now, don't 
you.'' A little better every day.'' You don't hate 
your step-mother, as most boys do.^* 

Frederic. [Feverishly, held by her eyes.] Why, 
you 're the most wonderful creature in the world. 
You 've made me care for you. I hated you when 
you first came here as my father's wife. You un- 
derstand. That was natural. I could n't help it. 
No more could I help changing when I found how 
lovely, how perfect you are. 

Mrs. Brood. [Derisively.] I shall try to be a 
good mother to you. 

[25] 



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Frederic. Oh, that's rubbish! I don't think of 
you as a step-mother. You 're not that, really. 
You 're a pal — a pal, that 's all. Yvonne, do you 
know that you are the most beautiful woman I have 
ever seen.^ You are — 

Mrs. Brood. [Languidly.] But you are very 
young. You will see a great many other women. 

Frederic. It won't make any diflFerence. They 
won't be like you. I don't care if you are Dad's wife 
— I lie aWake all night sometimes, thinking of you. 
I can't help it. Good Lord, to think of you married 
to a man as old as Dad! Why it's — it's like a 
dream. 

Mrs. Brood. A bad dream. f* [She sits at the left 
of the table.] 

Frederic. Yes! Hang it all, a bad dream. 

Mrs. Brood. But think of what you might have 
got for a step -mother. 

Frederic. I suppose that was Dad's lookout. 
[Stares at the floor.] 

Mrs. Brood. [After looking at him for some time, 
calculatingly.] It hurt me very much when you first 
refused to see me, Frederic. I am very proud, you 
know. I did not dream that my coming would drive 
you out of your home. If I had known — ah, well, 
I might not have come at all. 

[26] 



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Frederic. [Absently.] I wonder if I ever could have 
found you if you had n't come here, just as you have. 

Mrs. Brood. [Smiling faintly.] That was a very 
queer thing to say. 

Frederic. What I meant was — Oh, I don't know 
just what I meant. [Thoughtfully.] I say, you must 
have been dreadfully hurt when you found I 'd left 
home for Europe after hearing that Dad was bringing 
a new wife here from Vienna. I swore I 'd never 
come back. 'Gad, how little I knew what you 'd 
be like. Just think of it, Yvonne, I 've missed eight 
months of being with you — of being near you. 
What an ass! 

Mrs. Brood. A son never grows so old but that 
he thinks he is wiser than his father. Now you 've 
been home for a month. Was n't your father a 
wise man.'' You hesitate.'' 

Frederic. [Jfter a pause.] I was figuring how old 
he '11 be when you are thirty-five. 

Mrs. Brood. He '11 be both older and wiser, my 



son. 



Frederic. [Struck by the remark.] I wonder what 
that means. 

Mrs. Brood. [With an inscrutable smile and a 
languishing expression that causes him to drazv nearer.] 
It 's a wise father that knows his own child. 

[271 



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Frederic. Oh, you think he does n't know me? 

Mrs. Brood. [Softly.] Not yet. 

Frederic. [Palpably puzzled.] This is getting too 
deep for inc. But, in any event, he 's never taken 
much trouble to find me out. [Bitterly.] You 've 
been very good to overlook that outburst of mine 
the other night. 

Mrs. Brood. You were beside yourself. You did 
not know. 

Frederic. [Doggedly.] Oh, yes, I did know. I Ve 
stood it for years. It has been ground into me until 
it 's become part of my nature. That 's why men — 
fellows of my age, my own classmates — always 
looked upon me as a surly, unfriendly chap; that's 
why men show an aversion, a plain dislike for me. 
It 's because I 've always been unhappy; I 've never 
been loved, never been wanted. That's it! I can't 
help it! I must say it again. Somehow I can talk 
to you about it. I 've never told another soul — I 
could n't do that. But my father has paid no more 
attention to mc than if I had been a cobble-stone out 
there in the alley. Somehow, Yvonne, I don't feel 
as though I am talking to his wife. You don't seem 
like that to me. You understand me. No one else 
does — not even he. 

Mrs. Brood. Is '^^ for this that you asked me to 
[28] 



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come up here ahead of the others? Dear me, I felt 
a thrill of something else. But I see now it was only 
to console the baby of the family. His papa has 
neglected him, poor darling. 

Frederic. I beg your pardon, Yvonne. I — I 
thought you 'd understand. You Ve become so much 
to me that I — I forgot that I 'm talking about your 
— your husband. 

Mrs. Brood. You are talking about my husband. 
Frederic. Still, confound it, he 's really closer to 
me than he is to you. I 'm his son. That 's blood, 
you know. 

Mrs. Brood. But it 's a far cry from a cobble- 
stone in the alley to a loving wife. There 's more 
than one kind of blood, Frederic. 

Frederic. Do you know, I believe it 's those 
mysterious things you say that make me think 
so much of you. And the way you look at me 
sometimes. 

Mrs. Brood. And you don't hate me any longer? 
Frederic. Why, I adore you. I do! I 'd die if 
you were to leave me now. You can't possibly know 
how much you mean to me. I — 

Mrs. Brood. Shi This is the other kind of blood 
I referred to. It is not good in you. Be careful! 
Frederic. 'Gad, I wish I knew how to describe 
[29I 



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my feelings without having you feel that I 'm a 
rotten bounder. 

Mrs. Brood. Please leave it to my imagination. 
That is better. And now, change the subject. I 
can't bear to hear myself talked about. Tell me 
truly, are you in love with Lydia Desmond .f* 

Frederic. [Speechless for a moment, and confused.] 
Why — Why — oh, that was nothing. 

Mrs. Brood. Then you were in love with her.f' 
Pah! I might have known it. You are, now that I 
read you well, just the sort who would be carried 
away by a lily-white, bloodless creature such as she 
is. Why don't you marry her.'' How pretty it will 
be! How homelike! Why — [leaning forward sud- 
denly] — how wonderfully respectable her kisses 
would be! A peck or two, that's all, and you'd 
think you 'd been really loved! Not the warm, 
hungry, endless kiss of hot red lips that burn and 
quiver with the passion of a real, a big, an amorous 
love! No, no! Not that kind of a kiss! The very 
proper peck of a good girl! How nice! 

Frederic. [Beside himself.] Yvonne! Yvonne! 

Mrs. Brood. Forgive me! I did not mean to 
hurt you. I was unkind when I only meant to be 
witty. You love her. That is as it should be. She 
is a good girl. 

[30] 



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Frederic. Oh, that 's all over! It was nothing. 
A fellow has to have a sweetheart or two before he 
really comes to the one who counts. It was all over 
long ago between Lydia and me. 

Mrs. Brood. How long ago.^* 

Frederic. Oh, ages. 

Mrs. Brood. It was not over when you left home 
to go to Europe — before I came, was it.^ 

Frederic. Oh, practically. 

Mrs. Brood. You wrote to her daily, did n't you.'' 
It was n't over when you first came back a month 
ago, was it.? 

Frederic. Really, Yvonne, — I — I can't dis- 
cuss Lydia, you know. I can only say that it 's all 
over — and has been for some time. 

Mrs. Brood. You are sure.'* 

Frederic. [Impelled by her eyes.] Sure! I — I 
[reaches for her hand, which she withdraws as she arises 
abruptly and walks away with a gay smile on her lips.] 

Mrs. Brood. A brand snatched from the burn- 
ing. I wonder why your father is so long in coming 
up with the others.'' He said they should follow at 
once. It 's been most charming, Frederic, to have 
had this confidential chat with you. We are getting 
to have a great many of them. Honest confession is 
good for the soul. 

l3i] 



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Frederic. [Coming up to her.] I would n't care a 
hang if father and the others never came. 

Mrs. Brood. Dear me! How extraordinary. But 
they can't help it! 

Frederic. The others bore me stiff — all except 
the Gunnings — and father hates me, so why should I 
care.'* Father! That 's a fine name to me! I did n't 
know him even as a man until I was past fifteen. 
You never knew that he left me here in this old house 
when I was less than a year old, in the care of his 
sister and the servants, and never came near me until 
I was fifteen. He went away right after my mother 
— left. He forgot that I was on earth. And when 
he did come back it was only because his sister had 
died and something had to be done with me. He 
put me in a school — then I went to college — and 
it was not until I came out, soured and embittered 
against the whole world, that he condescended to 
invite me into his heart as if he were asking me as a 
casual stranger to come in and have supper with 
him. A fine lot of fatherly love and care and inspira- 
tion I 've had! I boil every time I think of it. 

Mrs. Brood. Don't think of it. 

Frederic. Don't! You 've never had any one 
treat you like a dog or you would not say that. 
Does he care for me now.f* Can you see anything 

[32] 



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but cold indifference in his attitude toward me? 
And what have I done to deserve this? What have 
I done? And I believe, as I believe in heaven, that 
he hated my mother and hates the memory of her 
still. 

Mrs. Brood. [Suddenly stiff and staring at him 
with wide, fierce eyes.] He hated your mother? 
Has he ever said so to you? Tell me — speak! 

Frederic. He 's never mentioned her name to 
me. I never saw her. She left him when I was less 
than a year old. I can't remember her face. There 
are no pictures, no photographs — nothing left of 
her. I believe he drove her away. She died 
abroad. 

Mrs. Brood. Yes, she died abroad — in Vienna, 
where he married her. That much I know. I — I 
can't believe that he was cruel to her. He loves me 
so, — yes, I know he can love. [Searching his face 
intently.] 

Frederic. That 's the strange part of it. I can't 
imagine him loving any one or anything. 

Mrs. Brood. Sh! They are coming. [Looks at 
him keenly for a moment, a queer smile in her eyes.] 
I hope he may never drive me away! 

Frederic. If he does, by heaven, I '11 go with 
you! 

[33] 



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[Enter Mr. Gunning and the elder Miss Folio- 
well, L., coming upstairs. He is a very dandyish 
chap of twenty-eight with a blase air; loud voice; an 
incessant cigarette smoker. Miss Followell is in 
evening dress of considerable beauty — green and 
black stripe effect. She wears glasses and is about 
forty.] 

Gunning. There! Quite a climb, is n't it? Makes 
a fellow puff a bit. Hello! Here you are. [Crosses 
with Miss Followell toward Mrs. Brood and Frederic, 
who are standing at the table. Frederic is lighting a 
cigarette, his hand shaking violently. Miss Followell is 
staring about her.] Ripping good dinner, Mrs. Brood. 
Can't tell you how I enjoyed those — er — those — 
what the deuce were those things.^ 

Mrs. Brood. Mushrooms.^ 

Gunning. Yes — that's it — mushrooms. Did- 
n't you, Miss Followell.'' 

Miss Followell. [Still staring.] I think they 're 
the most extraordinary rooms. 

Gunning. [Stares at her for a moment and then 
turns to Mrs. Brood.] You said mushrooms, did n't 
you } [To Miss Followell.] Not rooms — mushrooms. 
You eat 'em. 

Miss Followell. [Staring.] I have n't the 
[34] 



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faintest idea what you are talking about, Mr. 
Gunning. 

Gunning. Don't they have mushrooms in Boston ? 

Miss Followell. [Sharply.] Depends on what 
you call a mushroom. I should n't call this a mush- 
room. [Crosses to look at shield R.] 

Gunning. [Helplessly — to Frederic in an aside.] 
Frederic, it was just like that all through dinner. I 
never knew what she was talking about and she never 
seemed to catch on to what I was saying. Listen 
to this: I said to her once that the peach melba 
was fine and she said something back about what an 
astounding thing mental telepathy is. When I said 
what 's that got to do with it, she said she could n't 
help thinking the same as I did about it at precisely 
the same time. Damn me, it was n't the champagne, 
was it.f" Who the devil is she, anyway.? 

Frederic. [His eyes slyly following Mrs. Brood., 
who has crossed to Miss Followell.] Oh, she 's some- 
body's daughter from Boston — some professor there 
who knew Dad in Egypt. They hunted scarabs to- 
gether, I think. He 's always having freaks here to 
dine. 

Gunning. I like that. You know Mrs. Gunning 
and I come in pretty often. 

Frederic. To fill in, old man. Besides he wants 
[35] 



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you to offset the freaks. And Maisle is always rip- 
ping at a dinner. 

Gunning. Yes. She talks and never eats. This 
one does both. I say, her sister, though — the other 
one — is bully. I 'd like to have a chance to talk to 
her. [To the Buddha.] Mind if I smoke. Madam.'' 
[Looking closer.] By Jove, she 's got whiskers. [Feels 
them and lights a cigarette.] 

[Enter Ranjab R., crossing to door L., where he 
salaams.] 

[Enter James Brood and Miss Janey Followell, 
followed by Dr. Hodder and Mrs. Maisie Gunning. 
Janey Follozvell is young and pretty and stylish, 
quite different from her sister. Mrs. Gunning is 
pretty and smart and about twenty-five. Dr. 
Hodder is a serious man of forty, with whiskers 
and glasses and a scientific appearance. Brood is 
perhaps fifty, tall, straight, severe, smoothfaced, 
and striking, with gray hair and black eyebrows. 
Graceful and immaculately dressed. Mrs. Brood 
and Miss Followell turn toward the newcomers. 
They are followed soon by a manservant, who 
brings cigars, cigarettes, and liquors, which he 
passes from time to time, finally taking his stand 
near the door at R.] 

[36] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. This, Miss Janey, is where I work and 
play and dream and study how to become a real 
ogre. This is the sometimes forbidden chamber 
where I chop off pretty young women's heads and 
hang them from the window ledge as a warning to 
all other birds of prey. Behold! 

Janey. I should think you 'd be a perfectly de- 
licious ogre. Is n't he, Mrs. Brood .f" 

Mrs. Brood. My husband has so very many ac- 
complishments that I have yet to see him play the 
ogre. He keeps me in his enchanted castle without 
chains, and that 's saying a good deal in this matri- 
monial day and age. [Frederic glances across at her 
sharply and turns away as she smiles upon her 
husband.] 

Brood. [Patting Mrs. Brood's hand softly.] I 'd 
be an ogre if there was no other way of keeping you. 
[She looks into his eyes long and intently^ and then 
catches her breathy a puzzled expression coming into 
her eyes.] 

Miss Janey. [Looking around in ecstacsy.] My 
father has told me of this room — of all the wonder- 
ful rooms in your attic, as he calls it. He says this 
is as near heaven as he ever expects to get. In fact, 
he has gone so far as to say it is heaven. 

Brood. That 's why all my treasures get here, 
[37] 



BROOD HOUSE 



sooner or later, Miss Janey. You must not be sur- 
prised if I tuck you away in one of these drawers. 
Janey. Have n't you a waste basket? 

[Mrs. Gunning and Dr. Hodder are looking at 
a collection of knives on the wall at L. — he closely 
and critically — she yawning broadly. Miss Fol- 
lowell is roam'ng about up stage — finally stopping 
before the statuesque Ranjab upon whom she looks 
with her lorgnette. She touches him and he turns 
his head. She jumps and moves away, finding 
that he is really alive. Frederic and Gunning 
stand near the Buddha, the former looking at Mrs. 
Brood, the latter at Miss Janey, both of whom 
are on the opposite s'de of the table with Brood. 
Brood is pointing to objects on the table, appar- 
ently explaining to the wide-eyed Miss Janey, 
during the ensuing speeches. Mrs. Brood, eventu- 
ally catching Fredericks eye, gently motions him 
toward the corner couch, L.] 

Gunning. [Sotio voce to Frederic] I say, Freddie, 
she 's a corker, that girl is. No one would dream 
they are sisters. Are — are you sure about it.^' 

Frederic. How should I know.'' Their parents 
say they are. 

[38] 



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Gunning. By 'Gad, I don't believe the report is 
general, Freddie. Why, this one 's a peach. I don't 
see why Mrs Brood could n't have put me next her 
at dinner, instead of the other one. Just my luck. 
I 'd have had a bully time with this one. As it was, 
the whole damned dinner was spoiled for me. Never 
had a rottener time. 

Frederic. You 'd better not tell that to Mrs. 
Brood. 

Gunning. My dear fellow, I did n't say the food 
was bad. I say, let me take a match, will you? Oh, 
by George, she's quite alone there. Never mind! 
Thanks! I '11 have a few minutes with her if I die 
for it. [Starts toward Janey, as Mr. and Mrs. Brood 
go up to speak with Ranjah. Miss Followell, coming 
down, intercepts him, and he suddenly lights his cigar- 
ette, looking helplessly over her shoulder.] 

Miss Followell. Would you mind telling me, 
Mr. Gunning, how many cigarettes you smoke in a 
day.!^ 

Gunning. I would n't mind telling if I knew. 
You see, I don't count 'em. [Rather loudly, across 
her to Miss Janey.] I never get tired looking at 
those things, do you? [Signifying the curios Miss 
Janey is handling.] 

Miss Janey. I 've never had a chance. 
[39] 



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Miss Followell. Don't drop that paper-cutter, 
Janey. 

Gunning. [Stepping forward politely.] Let me 
hold it for you. If I should drop it, it won't matter, 
because I 'm always breaking things. They rather 
expect it of me. [To Miss Followell.] Have you 
seen the — er — the Buddha.'' There it is. [Turns 
to Miss Janey.] 

Dr. Hodder. [Studying a knife — Mrs. Gunning 
plaiyily bored.] Most extraordinary knives. I 've 
never seen the wiggly kind like this before. Do you 
know what they are used for, Mrs. Gunning.^ 

Mrs. Gunning. [With a casual glance.] Surgery, 
Dr. Hodder. 

Dr. Hodder. Surgery.'* 

Mrs. Gunning. [Suppressing a yawn.] The Hin- 
doos use them to remove appendixes with. 

Dr. Hodder. They do.'' Impossible! [Laughs 
skeptically.] You forget that I am a surgeon. 

Mrs. Gunning. Well, don't you believe you could 
remove an appendix with that swor — that knife .^ 

Dr. Hodder. Not without disaster to the patient. 

Mrs. Gunning. But, you see, Doctor, with the 
Hindoos one never knows which is the patient until 
after the operation. The patient is the one who 
dies. 

[40] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Dr. Hodder. How very amusing. I mean — for 
the surgeon who v/as n't the patient. 

[Mrs. Brood comes down to Mrs. Gunning, who 
is furiously bored.] 

Mrs. Gunning. [To Mrs. Brood.] Yvonne, if you 
ever put me next to that man again, I '11 cut your 
acquaintance. He 's the most insuflferable bore I 've 
ever had attached to me. How could you.^ My 
jaws hurt back here from trying to suppress yawns. 

Mrs. Brood. [Grinning maliciously.] But he 's 
the most famous surgeon in the country, my dear. 
Is n't he the great Dr. Hodder.? 

Mrs. Gunning. Let me tell you something, my 
dear. I 've never met a famous man in my life who 
was n't as stupid as an ox. Give me jackasses like 
my husband every time. Gunny does n't always 
say the right thing about metaphysics but he can 
tell you whether you do your hair well, which is 
much more to the point. 

Mrs. Brood. And he does know how to make love 
so well. 

Mrs. Gunning. [Proudly.] Indeed, he does! 

Frederic. [Approaching.] Maisie, behold in me 
the bearer of glad tidings. 

Mrs. Gunning. Anybody I know dead.f* 
[41] 



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Frederic. No. Your husband has fallen des- 
perately in love with Miss Followell. 

Mrs. Gunning. Which one.? 

Frederic. The one he is talking to, of course — 
Miss Janey. 

Mrs. Gunning. Splendid! Gunny never does 
anything vulgar. Now, would n't it be positively 
vulgar to fall in love with the other one? I should n't 
forgive him for that. 

Gunning. [To Janey, Miss Followell having gone 
over to meet Brood coming down.] I can't understand 
why I was n't put next to you at dinner. We 'd 
have got along famously. As it was, I never had a 
more stupid time. It was like — 

Miss Janey. Pardon me, Mr. Gunning, my sister 
is never stupid. [Smiles frigidly and walks over to 
Brood and Miss Followell. Ranjab has gone to a chest 
up stage and is taking therefrom a quantity of presti- 
digitator's articles.] 

Mrs. Gunning. [To Mrs. Brood.] Afraid to trust 
my husband with those very pretty young women.'' 
Dear me, no! Give him rope and he '11 hang himself 
soon enough. [Looking at Gunning.] Really, he seems 
to have done it in much shorter order than usual. 

Brood. [Coming down C. with the Misses Fol- 
lowell.] Now, my dear Miss Janey, you will be much 

[42] 



BROOD HOUSE 



better entertained by Ranjab and his Hindoo tricks 
than by any wretched story I can tell. Ranjab is 
really very clever. He was a sure-enough fakir when 
I came upon him in Delhi. Besides, you '11 get quite 
enough of me when Miss Desmond reads what we 
have just written about the last day of our journey 
to Lhassa. We are just finishing the volume relating 
to Thibet and — 

Miss Janey. [Clapping her hands for attention.] 
Everybody be quiet! Mr. Brood is going to tell us 
how he came by that horrid idol thing there. What 
is it? A Buddha? 

Brood. Hardly. He 's a plain, every-day, un- 
varnished god from the temple in Pewrika. He 
comes with excellent references, however. A thou- 
sand years old, and he can keep a secret. 

Miss Janey. And you kidnapped him? How 
disgraceful! Now, tell us the story. 

Brood. Every one has heard it a dozen times. 
Don't ask me to bore my guests. 

Miss Followell. But we have not heard it. 

Gunning. My dear Miss Followell, I went to 
considerable pains to tell you the story at dinner. 
Did n't you hear it? 

Miss Followell. I 'm sorry, Mr. Gunning, but 
you were talking into my deaf ear. 

[43] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Gunning. Deaf? [Aside.] By Jove, just think 
of the things I could have said to her and did n't. 

Miss Janey. Come now, Mr. Brood, you must. 

Brood. [7*0 Mrs. Broody who has seated herself on 
the couch at L., the others ^ excepting Frederic, having 
drawn near the table at which Brood stands.] Shall I 
tell it, my dear.? It 's terribly hard on the others. 

Mrs. Brood. Why not tell the story to Miss 
Followell and Miss Janey in the morning.'* They 're 
not leaving until the afternoon. They may have it 
at breakfast and luncheon — all about how you 
looted the temple and made way with his worship, 
and were shot at by endlessly poor marksmen through 
hundreds of miles of jungle and were pursued by 
tigers and cobras and other outraged natives until 
you were ready to drop for want of water and sleep 
and food. It 's as thrilling as Wilkic Collins' "Moon- 
stone," which I have just read in the ordinary Eng- 
lish. Mrs. Gunning has heard the tale a dozen 
times over, and so has Dr. Hodder. Mr. Gunning 
even presumes to tell it. So, I 'd have it for 
breakfast. 

Brood. Sensible idea! That clears it up very 
nicely. We '11 have Ranjab's magic with the cigar- 
rettes, and then we '11 have the trip to Lhassa. Ran- 
jab, are you quite ready.? 

[44] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Ranjab. [Comi7ig down and bowing.] In just one 
minute, master. [Goes up.] 

Brood. [Tc Miss FollowelL] He has been my 
body servant for ten years. I saved him from death 
in a little town — near Lahore. Ranjab was to 
have been executed for the murder of his wife. 
She 'd been false to him and he slew her. That kris 
which you have in your hand, Dr. Hodder, is the 
very weapon he used. Don't drop it! You, of all 
men, should not be afraid of bloody knives. Ranjab 
was in prison. I heard of his unhappy plight. One 
night, just a week before the execution, my three 
friends and I stormed the little gaol and rescued 
him. It was a lark, nothing more. We needed the 
excitement. You sec, we were just getting over the 
cholera. We got him safely out of the country, and 
— well, he 's been my slave since that night. He 
says he was born to die for me. 

Mrs. Brood. Sometimes J have the feeling — 
it 's dreadful, too — that Ranjab would be especially 
delighted if he could find some excuse for — [coolly 
running her hand across her throat — with a quick 
laugh and a glance at her husband] — for slitting my 
throat — so! Would n't you, Ranjab.? 

Ranjab. Madam! 

Mrs. Brood. My throat! [Shudders violently , a 

[45] 



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look of terror inker eyes.] Ah! [The others stare at 
her in surprise, and she suddenly laughs. Both her 
husband and Frederic start toward her, the latter turn- 
iiig away as he almost jostles his father, who looks hard 
at him.] 

Brood. [Bending over her.] My dear one, I — I 
don't understand. Are you playing — are you in 
earnest.'* Is it possible that you have the least fear 
of — of Ranjab.'' If that is so — if you are nervous 

— I shall send him away. I '11 send my poor mur- 
derer away. 

Mrs. Brood. After all, he did no more than to 
kill his own wife — why should he kill yours? Don't 
be silly, James, dearest. I was playing. Fear Ran- 
jab.? No, my husband. It is only the faithless wife 
who is killed, and she by her own husband. Pray 
proceed with the magic. Come, Ranjab, let us have 
the celebrated dagger trick. 

Brood. [Lea^iing over her, intensely.] You startled 
me, Yvonne. If I thought you feared — but no! 
That c^an't be. God, my girl wife, I — I love you 

— I love you with all the love I thought had been 
dead in me for centuries. [Frederic lowering up L.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Shrinking down among the cushions 

— her eyes on his.] Go back to them. Do the magic. 
You are attracting attention to me. Can't you see? 

[46]- 



BROOD HOUSE 



Dr. Hodder. [^s Brood crosses to C, the others 
having begun to grow nerzous.] Mrs Gunning tells 
me that the natives use this particular sort of an 
instrument in removing the tonsils from tubercular 
infants. {Exhibits the long and ugly szvord which he 
handles.] Did you find, Mr. Brood, that the Hindoo 
infants have so much spare neck as all that.^ 

Mrs. Gunning. Doctor, one of the very first 
things a Hindoo infant is taught is the knack of 
swallowing a sword. The parents go on the same 
principle that you American surgeons follow. When 
you operate to find if there 's anything the matter 
with one's stomach, you whack out the appendix as 
a matter of expediency, whether it needs to be 
whacked out or not. So with the Hindoo father, 
who is always the family surgeon. So long as the 
infant has already got the sword in there where the 
tonsils are, why not give it a twist and slice them 
off.'* It saves time, and besides, nature did n't intend 
us anything that could be safely cut out. 

Gunning. Say, Hodder, she 's stringing you. 

Dr. Hodder. {With dignity.] My dear Gunny, I 
hope you have n't got the idea that / thought she 
was in earnest. 

Brood. Come, Ranjab. We are waiting. [Ran- 
jab comes down with hi^ paraphernalia^ which he 

[47] 



I 



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places on the table. Frederic moves over beside Mrs. 
Brood, standing before her and speaking in low tones. 
The others find seats near the magician.] Oh, I say, 
just a moment. The show will not be complete with- 
out the presence of my old comrades, Riggs and 
Dawes. I told them to come here this evening. 
Have you seen them, Ranjab? 

Ranjab. [After a moment.] They were here, 
master, but — but — [looks at Frederic and Mrs. 
Brood]. 

Brood. They were here.^ What? Have they fled 
In terror of this seemly company.? Where are they.? 

Frederic. [Sullenly.] I did n't know you 'd 
asked them to stay, father. I — I told them you 
were having guests up here and — 

Brood. [Who has advanced a step or two and is 
frowning darkly at his son, speaking with a harsh, 
cold voice.] So you took it upon yourself to ask 
them to get out. Is that what you did.? Perhaps it 
would be just as well for you to curb your authority 
a bit, my son. I am still here, you know. You will 
oblige me by going at once to their room, and, after 
apologizing, ask the gentlemen to step up here at 
once for the entertainment. I particularly want 
them to hear what I have written about the trip to 
Lhassa. Go at once! [Turns to the company.] My 

[48] 



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old comrades were with me on that journey. They 
suffered quite as much as I. 

Mrs. Brood. [Arising and coming towards Brood, 
while Frederic hangs his head in humiliation and 
anger.] James, as it was I who sent the old men 
away, I think it is I who should go to them, not 
Frederic. Please punish me. I am the one who has 
sinned. 

Brood. [Staring at her.] You .? Yvonne, I, — 
why, you are trying to shield Frederic, that 's all. 
You always — [pauses], 

Mrs. Brood. Always what, my dear.'' [Looking 
at him coldly.] I sent them away. I did not want 
them here. They irritate me. I always send them 
away. But I will get them. [Going.] 

Brood. [Interposing himself.] My dear, I beg 
your pardon. It was all a mistake. [Imploringly.] 
Pray don't think of it again. You were quite right, 
if you really feel that they irritate you. I daresay 
they do. They 're queer old customers — hardly 
ladies' men, good friends. Come, Yvonne, think no 
more about it. Let them stay where they are. 
They 're in bed, I daresay, and asleep. Come, dear, 
sit down and we '11 go on with the performance. 

Mrs. Brood. [Suddenly patting his hand and 
smiling.] You might say you are sorry — to Frederic. 

[49] 



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Brood. [His jaw setting — after a moment.] I am 
sorry, Frederic. [Turns to the table as she walks over 
to Frederic and touches his shoulder gently.] 

Frederic. [In a low, intense tofie.] I '11 never for- 
get this, Yvonne. I am shamed to my very soul. 

Brood. [Suddenly turning to Frederic] Has Miss 
Desmond been here.? I asked her to come with the 
manuscript. 

Mrs. Brood. [Js Frederic does not reply, but looks 
suddenly guilty.] She is in the picture gallery, James, 
— waiting. 

Brood. [To the servant.] Ask Miss Desmond to 
come here, Parker. [Looks hard at Frederic] 

[Exit servant L.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Drawing Frederic down beside her 
on the couch and smiling maliciously.] You com- 
pletely forgot the good little girl of peaches and 
cream, eh.^' Now I am beginning to feel that you 
don't care for her. And she said she would wait for 
you in the gallery! What a nice wait she has been 
having with the old masters while the young one 
stops here with his head full of — of other things. 
[Eying him languorously.] 

Frederic. Don't, please, Yvonne! I — I did 
forget her. You made me forget her. Can't you 
see } I — 

[50] 



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Mrs. Brood. Sh! She is here and she is sure to 
look like a wounded deer. Go to her and make 
it up. 

Frederic. [Gritting his teeth.] God, I '11 never 
forget the way he spoke to me. He hates me — yes, 
he does! He never says a kind word to me. To 
humiliate me before all these people — as if I were 
a dog. Yes, a dog! He 's kinder to those two old 
loafers. Did you see how he looked at me.? That's 
what I mean when I say that he 's never been like a 
father to me. I — I could have struck him for that 
look and those words. 

Mrs. Brood. [Gently.] Poor boy! [Jfter a long 
■pause y in which she studies his hurt face.] You — you 
must be very like your mother. 

Frederic. [Bitterly.] I hope so. I 'm not like 
my father, that's sure — and thank God! Oh, 
Yvonne, he '11 make you miserable — I know he 
will. He 's as hard as steel. I know him, and 
I say this to you, even though he is my own 
father. 

Mrs. Brood. [Quietly.] You must not say such 
things, Frederic. I cannot permit them. He is my 
husband. I love him. Do not forget yourself again, 
sir! [She smiles slyly as he turns and walks away. 
Leans back and fans herself.] 

[51] 



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[Servaiit and Lydia have entered from L., and 
she has been introduced to the Misses Followell by 
Brood during the scene between Frederic and Mrs. 
Brood. Lydia carries a roll of manuscript.] 

Lydia. [To Frederic, zvhom she crosses to meet at 
L. C] You did not come to the picture gallery, 
Frederic? 

Frederic. [Embarrassed.] I — I tried to, but I 
could n't get away from these people. [Lydia glances 
somewhat scornfully in the direction of Mrs. Brood.] 
Why do you look at her.^' Confound it, Lydia, I 
don't understand that glance. 

Lydia. [Smiling faintly before she crosses to R.] 
My glance is like the foolish moth. It always seeks 
the flame. 

[Positio7is as Ranjab begins his dagger trick: 
Mrs. Brood at L., on the couch, Frederic at L. C, 
Ranjab at C, left of and near the upper end of the 
table. Brood leaning with his hands upon the rear 
end of the table; Mrs. Gunning sitting on the arm 
of a big armchair at right of table, Miss Followell 
sitting upon the other, with Dr. Hodder standing 
behind them; Gunning sinoking idly at R. C., 
seated on a small chair; Miss Janey stands be- 
[52] 



BROOD HOUSE 



side Broody at his left, and Lydia has stopped a 
little to the left of Miss Janey. Just after Ranjab 
begins preparations for the trick, Mrs. Brood 
holds up an unlighted cigarette and motions Fred- 
eric to her side. He comes over quickly and sits 
down at her left, scratching a match and holding 
it up to her cigarette. This is watched by Brood 
and Lydia. Ranjab should be able to do a dagger 
trick of some sort and one other mysterious shift- 
ing trick in which he would use a china or glass 
cup, to be shattered in a clumsy mishandling at the 
proper moment. If this character can prepare 
some sensationally bewildering trick of the Hindoo 
type, so much the better. His movements must be 
silent, mystifying, and very quick.] 

Brood. Ranjab was in his day prime magician 
to the Rajah of Maltapootja — an extraordinarily 
honorable post in the cabinet, let me tell you. He 
could swallow the longest sword of any in the hill 
country. 

HoDDER. And he looks as though he could have 
made other people swallow it with considerable pre- 
cision, too. 

Miss Janey. Do hurry up! I'm so interested. 
What's he going to do? Swallow it.? 

[53] 



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Gunning. Yes. You can see where it goes much 
better if you 'II come over here. Front elevation 
from here, Miss Janey. 

Miss Janey. I '11 stay where I am, thank you. 

[Ranjab performs the sword swallowing trick, 
following it with the one in which the dagger is 
driven through the wrist, or something of that sort, 
the tricks being received by enthusiastic applause 
from Miss Followell, Miss Janey, and Dr. Hodder. 
The others are quite indifferent — in fact, scarcely 
looking at the performer.] 

[Frederic has moved quite close to Mrs. Brood 
and is looking intently at her profile as she smokes 
lazily, tantalizingly, occasionally whispering to 
her. As Ranjab is in the midst of his trick with 
the glass cup, he suddenly glances toward the two 
on the couch. He observes Frederic slyly take up 
the hand of Mrs. Brood and carry it passionately 
to his lips. Ranjab drops the cup and it smashes. 
There are startled cries and he looks quickly at 
his master. Mrs. Brood snatches her hand away, 
hut Brood, who has looked quickly, notes their 
confusion. Lydia also has started forward, as she 
has seen the kiss — a look of surprise on her face. 
As the others crowd about Ranjab, who stands 

[54) 



BROOD HOUSE 



shamefaced, Brood steps out and faces Frederic, 
who also has risen.] 

Brood. [Turning to Ranjab, who has started to 
pick up the pieces.] Wait, Ranjab! You failed with 
that, eh? Well, get ready for the basket and rope 
trick. Never mind the pieces. Don't cut yourself 
with the glass. We can't afford to have our prime 
magician's fingers jeopardized. Can we, Miss Janey ? 
Frederic, while Ranjab is preparing for the next 
trick, you will pick up these broken pieces. [Looking 
hard at his son and pointing to the glass. Mrs. Brood 
stares at him with wide-open eyes. Frederic draws 
back angrily. Lydia starts toward the broken glass as 
Ranjab moves away bewildered, but Brood steps for- 
ward and she turns away, her eyes upon Frederic] 
Pick them up, Frederic. 

[Frederic holds back a moment, under the spell 
of his eyes, and then slinks forward and begins 
collecting the bits. Mrs. Brood sinks back and 
puffs her cigarette easily.] 

CURTAIN 

[End of Act I.] 



[55 



BROOD HOUSE 



ACT SECOND 

Scene: Same as Act I. Ten days later. About ten 
o\lock at night. During the progress of the act, 
the wind may he heard whistling about the eaves 
and corners of this upper floor, with an occasional 
bang of a chimney pot. Sleet blowing against and 
past the windows. Lights may be seen in upper 
floors of buildings in the distance when the curtains 
are drawn. 

Discovered: Lydia writing at the table C, papers 
and manuscripts piled high about her. She is 
copying from Brood's original manuscript. Brood 
has replaced his evening coat with a long oriental 
dressing-gown and smokes a hookah, which stands 
on the floor beside him. He is at the right of the 
table, facing it, and the Buddha is hard by his 
left shoulder. Lydia is in a white shirtwaist and 
dark skirt, and wears paper cuff -protectors. Ran- 
jab comes in and out of the room, engaged in the 
task of making hot drinks at the cupboard R. 
Brood is quietly studying Lydia' s bent head after 
the curtain lifts. 

[56] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Lydia. [Suddenly lifting her eyes, nervously.] Is 
— Is there anything wrong with my hair, Mr. Brood? 
[Laughs nervously.] 

Brood. [In surprise.] Your hair? How strange! 
Do you know, I was thinking about your hair, 
LydIa? There is nothing wrong with It, my girl. 
It Is glorious. Oh, I see, you women can always tell 
by Intuition when a man Is looking at your hair. 
And you always think there 's something wrong with 
it. It 's nearly half-past ten. You 've been at It 
pretty steadily this evening, child. I trust you won't 
go on thinking, as the rest of them do, that I 'm a 
stone-hearted person who has no feeling for others. 

Lydia. I could n't think that, Mr. Brood. You've 
done so much to make me know that It Is n't true. 
I — I wonder why you say that you are stone-hearted? 

Brood. I don't. It is they who say it. Perhaps 
it 's because I do not smile so often or so politely as 
I should, but that 's my nature, and nature does n't 
always smile. It Is n't smiling now, if you take a 
look from the window. [Goes up to zvindow and pulls 
the curtains aside.] It 's a wretched night — blowing 
a gale and raining and sleeting by turns. I 'm glad 
you 've decided to stay all night, Lydia. It Is n't 
far to your lodgings, but It 's a good night to be In 
doors. [Comes down.] You are tired. I can see it 

[57] 



BROOD HOUSE 



in your eyes. You 've had a tired look in your eyes 
for some time, my child. Is the copying too much 
for them.^ 

Lydia. [Quickly.] Oh, no, no, Mr. Brood. I love 
to work. I feel as though I have had something to 
do in the making of a great book. It will be a great 
book. No one has ever been able to tell the things 
you can tell of Thibet and its mysteries. More than 
all am I proud to do my very small share toward 
giving you the help that poor father might have 
given had he lived to this day. 

Brood. Your father was my best friend. He was 
a real nobleman, Lydia. But for him I should have 
drunk the dregs and been in a suicide's hell long 
ago. To John Desmond do I owe my life many 
times over. These two rare old boys who journeyed 
with us through wild lands and wilder days are but 
the projected shadows of what I might have been. 
They came into my life before John Desmond, and 
I was going down the hill with them at their own 
merry pace. Then your father came. He lifted me 
out of the slough and pointed a new way to me. I 
followed him up out of the depths. Riggs and 
Dawes came behind me. They lagged behind at 
first, but they were men and true men, after all. 
They never deserted me in peace or in peril. I have 

[58I 



BROOD HOUSE 



seen Joseph Riggs stand face to face with a tiger to 
do battle for me when I was ill in the jungle. I 
have known Danbury Dawes to go without water 
for days that I might not die of fever. They were 
men. They are my friends for life. Poor old chaps, 
they have earned all the peaceful grog that I can 
give them. 

Lydia. Poor old souls, they are as much interested 
in this book as — I was going to say as I am — but 
I mean you. They feel that they have written it 
with you. 

Brood. [Smiling grimly.] If I were to lack any- 
thing in the way of narrative, they could supply the 
missing thread with admirable sang froid and no 
conscience whatsoever. 

Lydia. Mr. Riggs is especially clever at it, Mr. 
Brood. He is the most notable story teller I have 
ever known. 

Brood. If you were going to describe him in short- 
hand, my dear, it would be much simpler to say liar. 
My wife does not like them. I can understand it, 
too. They bore her. There can be nothing in com- 
mon. They are old and — [ponders] — old ! I often 
catch myself wondering how she can care for me. I 
am old. I am fifty. That is old, my dear, when you 
think that it is at least twenty years older than she. 

[S9l 



BROOD HOUSE 



She hates old people. She has said so. And yet — 
and yet she seems to care for me. [As she does not 
respond, he eyes her closely for a moment or two.] I 
daresay the two old boys do irritate her. They 
gossip like old women — God preserve 'em — and 
they meddle with the liquors more than they should. 
She likes system and order. They can't understand 
it. They are just as likely to be found dead drunk 
in the drawing-room as in the back hall. It 's all 
one to them. They 're never quite sober enough to 
realize that there is a distinction. But I can't turn 
them out. I promised them, you know. I am sorry, 
Lydia, that you have chosen to live away from this 
house. It should have been your home. You shall 
yet marry from it. 

Lydia. [Glancing at him covertly.] Thank you, no. 
You are kind, Mr. Brood. The man who would 
marry me must come to my own home for me — no 
matter how humble it may be. Please don't think 
I am ungrateful. Your promise to your three old 
friends included my father — but I am not John 
Desmond, sir. I have no claim upon you. 

Brood. You are a brave girl. I like your spirit. 
And you are right, too. [After a long critical pause.] 
I understand quite well, my dear, that you do not 
like my wife. [As she starts to protest.] Please don't 

[60] 



BROOD HOUSE 



deny it. I know and she knows it. So long as we 
all know, there 's no real harm done. 

Lydia. She will not let me like her, Mr. Brood. 
I would, I am sure, if she but came half way to meet 
me. She does not like me. She has put me in the 
class of dependents. To her, I am quite on a plane 
with Joseph Riggs and Danbury Dawes. Yes, Mr. 
Brood, I feel it. A woman can always feel these 
things. That is why I left your home, sir. That is 
why — why I shall be happy when this work is fin- 
ished next week. 

Brood. Lydia! What do you mean.? 

Lydia. That when it is finished I shall then have 
no excuse for intruding my unwelcome self upon 
Mrs. Brood. I shall not come here again, Mr. 
Brood. [As he stares at her, she continues implor- 
ingly.] You understand, don't you.? You don't 
think me ungrateful! I — I can't come here, Mr. 
Brood. 

Brood. [Slowly.] Lydia, my child, is that the 
only reason why you do not wish to come here? 

Lydia. [Confused.] Why — of course — yes. 
What other reason could there be? 

Brood. Frederic. 

Lydia. Frederic? 

Brood. Yes. I have not been blind. You love 
[6i] 



BROOD HOUSE 



him, little girl, and — and you are slowly coming to 
realize that he is not what you thought he might 
be. 

Lydia. [In sudden alarm — comprehending, with a 
quick, involuntary look at the couch L.] Mr. Brood ! 

Brood. Your eyes arc being opened. [Leaning 
forward, slowly.] My child, he was not born to be 
constant. He was born to prove that honest love is 
the rarest thing in the world. 

Lydia. I don't understand. 

Brood. No, you do not. But you may under- 
stand some day. Frederic has, I 've no doubt, told 
you that he loved you — wait! A year ago, perhaps. 
He thought he loved you then, just as you thought 
he did. But he does not love you now. He loves 
lightly — as [slowly] — as his mother did before him. 
As his father did before him. 

Lydia. [Bewildered.] What are you saying to me, 
Mr. Brood.? 

Brood. [Grimly.] He looks like his mother — he 
acts like her — he looks at me as she looked at me, 
before he was born. He looks as if he realized that 
I know him to the core — as I knew her. I thank 
God, Lydia, that you have been saved from him. I 
saw that you were eating your heart out, wondering, 
puzzling over his strange, perhaps sudden change of 

162] 



BROOD HOUSE 



front. It was not change of heart, my dear; change 
of mind. 

Lydia. [Rising, indignantly.] Mr. Brood, I can- 
not listen to this. I do care for Frederic. You have 
some reason for speaking of this to me — some 
reason I cannot understand. He does not care for 
me as he did — but I — I do not hold it against him. 
I hold it against myself. You have never been kind 
to him — hear me, please! So long as I have known 
you both — a good many years, sir — my heart has 
bled for Frederic. In all that time I have never 
known you to give him a loving, tender word — 
never! He felt it — he shrank from it — that, I 
know. You don't like him, Mr. Brood. I can't see 
why that should be. But I will not hear you revile 
him, sir. I will not. If your unkindness had begun 
but recently I could understand — 

Brood. [Quickly.] But recently, you say.^" 

Lydia. [Aghast at her blunder.] I — I mean — so 
far as I am concerned but recent — 

Brood. [Looking so hard at her that she stops in 
affright.] I think I understand what you mean. 
Well, it would not be hard to believe even that of 
him. Blood will tell. Sit down, please. [She sits 
down slowly.] Ranjab! Will you see that Mrs. 
Brood and Mr. Frederic come up here for their hot 

[63] 



BROOD HOUSE 



toddies when they return? Keep the water hot. 
Let me know when they come in. 

[Exit Ran jab.] 

[Leaning forward, deliberately.] I left the Ratcliffs' 
dinner early to-night, my child, ostensibly to work 
with you, but in reality to talk with you. I 've been 
trying to begin the task for an hour. I could n't. 
First, let me tell you, once for all, that I should never 
have permitted you to marry Frederic. I could not 
keep you from loving him — but the other — well, 
that 's what I want to talk about. A moment ago I 
said that he looked like his mother. Yes, she was 
very good looking. God, child, she was the most 
beautiful creature I 've ever seen. Would you say 
that he looks like his father.? 

Lydia. [Blankly.] Yes — Mr. Brood — I would 
say that he looks like his father. 

Brood. [Startled.] You mean, like me? 

Lydia. Certainly, of course. Like you, Mr. 
Brood. 

Brood. [Passes his hand over his brow — hoarsely.] 
But I am not his father. 

Lydia. [Uncomprehendingly.] Sir? 

Brood. Frederic is not my son. 

Lydia. You — you mean that he is an — an 
[64] 



BROOD HOUSE 



adopted son? Oh, I — I don't know why you look 
at me so steadily. What is it? Yes, I love Frederic 
— I shall always love him. I cannot tell you how I 
have suffered in seeing you treat him as you do. He 
does not deserve it, I 'm sure. [Rises quickly, almost 
fiercely.] Even an adopted child has a right to expect 
kindness, if not affection. It is — 

Brood. He is not an adopted son — he is my son 
by sufferance. If that boy were my son, Lydia, I 
would love him as no son ever has been loved in this 
world. You say I hate him. Can't you see, also, 
that he dislikes me? He never knew his mother, he 
never saw his father, but there is a strange instinc- 
tive strain in him that tells him to hate me. It is 
nature, my dear — fed, no doubt, by my own bitter 
animosity. 

Lydia. Animosity, Mr. Brood? In heaven's name 
why are you telling me this? Why — 

Brood. I regret to say that I consider it fair to 
you — and honest to myself. Because I have said 
that he should not marry you. I see that you don't 
fully understand. 

Lydia. I only know that you are saying terrible 
things to me, Mr. Brood, — terrible, inexplicable 
things. I have felt that I could not hope to be his 
wife. He will be very wealthy — he has position — 

[65I 



BROOD HOUSE 



he has everything that I, as the daughter of John 
Desmond should not aspire to. But I love him 
and — 

Brood. He has none of these things, except by- 
sufferance. He is not to have a dollar of my fortune 
— never. He is not my heir, in any sense of the 
word. As for position, yours is a thousand fold 
higher than his. His father was my wife's — his 
mother's music master. There is not a drop of my 
blood in that boy's veins. 

Lydia. [Slowly comprehending.] I — I understand. 
Do you realize what you are saying.'' 

Brood. There is not a shadow of doubt. I have 
known it for twenty-one years. Twenty-one years 
ago I drove that boy's mother out of this house. I 
wonder that I did not kill her. But I kept the boy. 
[Laughs coldly.] 

Lydia. [Drawing away in horror.] Knowing that 
he was not your son, you kept him with you.^* To 
punish him some day.? To crush him down for what 
God did for him in the beginning.'' To wait until this 
late day to visit the sins of the father upon him.? 
You — 

Brood. No! To make her regret to her dying day 
that I did not kill her in the beginning. [Laughs.] 
By God, how she begged for him — how she fought 

[661 



I 



BROOD HOUSE 



and pleaded through all those wretched years! No! 
To punish her! She loved him. He was hers! She 
zvas his mother. And so I kept him from her. She 
never saw him after she went forth into the street 
that wintry day. She suffered until the day she 
died. 

Lydia. She is dead.^ 

Brood. Ten years ago she died in Vienna — 
where I married her. God, can I ever forget how I 
loved her.'' And how I have hated her! In all these 
years that boy's mother's face has never been out 
of my eyes. I can even see something of her eyes, 
her hair, her manner in the girl who is now my wife. 
That 's why she appealed to me in Paris a year ago, 
when I first saw her. Now I love Yvonne — for I 
do love her, Lydia. She has come in these late years 
to take the place of the other. God, I am sure that 
sometimes I really see my wife's eyes — looking at 
me through Yvonne's — My wife's, did I say? Yes 
— my own wife's, Lydia, for after all — [slowly] — 
she was my own wife. It 's the thing in Yvonne that 
brings Matilde back to me that causes me to love 
her to-day. 

Lydia. [Looking hard at him, as he drops into 
silence.] Have you told this story to your — your 
present wife.'* Does she know? 

[67] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. No one has heard this story from my lips 
but you. To-night I shall tell Yvonne. I have 
come to see only too plainly that she likes Frederic 

— she likes and spoils him because she feels that he 
is my son. She is puzzled by my evident dislike for 
the boy. She is beginning to misjudge me, to feel 
hard toward me. I must tell her. She must under- 
stand why I feel as I do. Listen! They have just 
come in. Ah! Do you hear that.? Do you know 
what it is that he is whistling .'' [Frederic is heard 
zvhistling in the distance the ^^ Paloma^^ waltzes.] 

Lydia. "La Paloma" waltz — his favorite. He 
has hummed or whistled it ever since I have known 
him. 

Brood. And always will. It was the waltz that 
his mother learned from his — his father. She — 
she played the harp. I can hear them playing now 

— ah! And now this boy is drumming it on the 
piano with Yvonne — with Yvonne! I hear them 
every day. 

Lydia. [Rigidly.] You will not tell him what you 
have told me.'' 

Brood. Not now. But when I am in my grave, 
he may have the pleasure of discovering his heritage 
in the will I shall leave behind. [Laughs grimly.] 
So, you see, I can't let you think of marrying him. 

[68] 



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Lydia. [Intensely.] Mr. Brood, I have listened in 
horror to what you have said. I won't say that I 
can't understand how you feel. You can't help it. 
But you are unjust to the innocent. You have 
brought him up and fatted him as the butcher 
puts meat upon his calves and swine — to pre- 
pare them for death. Mr. Brood, if Frederic were 
to ask me to-night to be his wife, I 'd say yes 
with every drop of my blood. What do I care 
who his mother was, or his father.? That 's nothing 
to me. 

Brood. [Facing her — in surprise.] It 's too bad, 
after all, that he has n't got it in him to love you. 
If — if he loved you as you ought to be loved, Lydia, 
I might spare him. But he — he does not love you. 
[Steadily.] He is desperatly in love with another 
woman. 

Lydia. [Looks down and closes her eyes as if in 
pain. As he turns toward the door quickly, she sits at 
the table and jumbles with the papers.] 

[Enter from R., from downstairs, Mrs. Brood., 
in evening dress, without wrap, except a gauze neck 
shawl, smoking a cigarette; a deep red rose in her 
hair. She is followed closely by Frederic, in 
evening clothes, his face flushed and eager. 
[69] 



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Mrs. Brood. [Gaily to Brood.] Ah, here you are. 
[Sees Lydia and notes her confusion, and flashes quick 
glances from the girl to her husband and hack.] And 
you, Miss Desmond. James, dear, you are working 
Miss Desmond too hard. It is very late. See, see 
how nervous she is. The poor child is trembling. 
For shame, James! [Looks at him meaningly.] 

Lydia. Oh, I assure you, Mrs. Brood, it is nothing. 
I — I am not tired. Like Mr. Brood, I am only 
eager to finish the work. [Looks quickly at Frederic] 

Brood. We are getting on toward the end. We 
have just escaped captivity in Lhassa. It was a bit 
thrilling, I fancy. But we 've stopped for the night. 

Mrs. Brood. [Insolently.] So I perceive. You 
stopped, I daresay, just as soon as you heard the 
tread of the vulgar world approaching the inner 
temple. That 's what you broke into and desecrated, 
was n't it.'' The inner temple.'* 

Brood. [Coldly.] You mean at Lhassa. f* 

Mrs. Brood. Certainly. The place you were 
escaping from when we came in. [Walks over to L., 
palpably angry. Lydia looks at Brood helplessly, and 
he frowns at his wife. Frederic, after hesitating a mo- 
ment, goes to Mrs. Brood, who sits on couch.] 

Frederic. [In low tone.] Oh, I say, Yvonne, 
she '11 think you 're jealous. It was rather nasty. 

[70] 



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Mrs. Brood. [Furiously, but in low tone.] Jeal- 
ous.^ Jealous of that lily-white thing .'' Poof! She 
has n't the 'olood of a turnip. Why should I be 
jealous.^ Poof! 

Frederic. [In low tones.] You told me to-night 
that you did n't love him. 

Mrs. Brood. [In a panic-stricken voice.] Stand 
there! Between! I can feel his eyes burning into 
my soul. Stand between us! I — I can't stand the 
look that 's in his eyes. [He moves over in a line and 
she looks relieved, nervously puffing at her cigarette.] 
Jealous! Poof! I — I am only afraid of him. 

Lydia. [Who has picked up some papers^ and, after 
a glance at Frederic, starts quickly towards the door.] 
Good-night, Mr. Brood. 

Brood. [Starting.] Wait, Lydia! One moment, 
please. [Follows her up to the door, and, in expostu- 
lating, draws her to the center windows, where they talk 
earnestly during the open conversation down stage.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Looking over her shoulder, with an 
agitated laugh.] Dear me, what a tempest in a 
temple! 

Frederic. Lydia is too good for that sort of — 
of an insinuation. 

Mrs. Brood. Insinuation.^ Rubbish! 

Frederic. You might just as well have said — 

[71] 



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well, it 's too rotten even for me to suggest. She 's 
the truest, purest, best girl I 've ever known, Yvonne. 

Mrs. Brood. Then, why don't you go to her.? 
Why do you hang over me."* I 'm not the purest and 
best you 've ever known. Go to your lily-white and 
spotless Lydia. I 'm not holding you, Frederic. 
Go! You irritate me! 

Frederic. Say, by heaven, you do love him. I 
can see it — I can feel it in the air about you. You 
can't fool me. What, in heaven's name, are you 
trying to do with me} I don't give a damn if he 
does hear me. I love you. I adore you! And 
you 've said that you love me — not as a boy, not 
as a son, but as a man. 

Mrs. Brood. Sh! Be careful! 

Frederic. After all you said to me in the motor 
car coming back to-night! After all we have planned 
and all I 've agreed to do! In spite of all that, by 
God, you do love him. That 's why you won't let 
me kiss you. That's why! You're just playing 
with me! You want him to hate me more than he 
does now. You love him and you 're using me to 
make him jealous. I see! And, oh, you know how 
much I love you, Yvonne! I 'm a dog, I know, but 
I can't help it. 

Mrs. Brood. Be quiet! Not now. I '11 see you 
[72] 



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here later. We must talk it all over. Listen! I 
will do what I said I would, Frederic. I have de- 
cided. Now, be quiet. Go away. They are com- 
ing back. Why does n't the little fool go home.? 

Brood. [Coming down sternly, followed by Lydia, 
who is plainly scared.] You did n't mean all that you 
said a moment ago, Yvonne. Lydia has misinter- 
preted your idle words. You meant nothing unkind, 
I 'm sure. [Looking straight into her eyes. She looks 
back insolently for a second and then the sneer goes out 
of her face.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Meekly.] No, — of course not. I 
— I am sorry if Miss Desmond thought anything else. 
[Flaring up briefly.] But why all this commotion 
about it.? [Catches his eye and falters.] Oh, I say, 
can't we settle down here now for a few comfy min- 
utes.? We want to talk over the dinner. 

Brood. [To Lydia.] You see, she did not mean 
anything unkind. I told you so. Lydia is staying 
over night, my dear. We can't send her out in this 
blizzard. No one but policemen and burglars go out 
such nights as this. 

Mrs. Brood. And diners-out, my dear. [He sits 
beside her, as Frederic walks angrily over to where 
Ranjab is pouring out the drinks. Suddenly she draws 
Brood to her and kisses his lips passionately. Lydia 

[73] 



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turns away quickly and Frederic^ having seen, clenches 
his hands.] Don't mind me, Miss Desmond! I'm 
silly about him. Please sit down. I 'm so glad 
James thought to ask you to stop over night. It 's 
perfectly impossible outside, and Frederic sent the 
motor car away. Ooh! One can almost feel that 
ghosts from every graveyard in the world are whis- 
tling past our windows. Ranjab to the rescue! 
Ah, this is truly an instance of spirits come in, 
spirits go out. [Ranjab is serving the hot drinks on a 
tray.] 

Frederic. If you '11 excuse me, good people, I 
think I '11 go to bed. 

Mrs. Brood. [Looks quickly at him.] Bed is a 
sepulcher, Frederic. We bury half our lives in it. 
Come, be a sport, as Mr. Gunning would say. 

Frederic. [Surlily.] You know I 'm on the 
water-wagon. 

Mrs. Brood. You are as solemn about it as if it 
were a hearse. 

Brood. You 're in a peculiar mood to-night, 
Yvonne. Ghosts, and graves, and hearses. I 'm 
afraid we sha' n't sleep well if you put such things 
into our heads. See, Lydia would jump now if I 
said "boo." 

Lydia. [Nervously, smiling.] It 's the storm. I 

[74] 



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am always nervous when the wind blows like this. 
[Sits at the right of the table.] 

Frederic. I feel creepy up here, myself. 

Brood. I thought you were going to bed. 

Frederic. [Resentfully.] I 've changed my mind. 
Of course, if you want to send me to bed, I '11 go. 
I 'm a dutiful son. 

Brood. On the contrary, I want you to sit up and 
tell us all that happened at the dinner after I left. 
What spiteful things were said about me? 

Frederic. They were particularly careful not to 
say them in my hearing. 

Mrs. Brood. I heard some very nice things about 
you. Mrs. Ratcliff said that you interest her more 
than any man she 's ever known. You are so de- 
lightfully mysterious and so tragic in your silences. 
Being silent while she talks is truly tragic. I don't 
wonder that you interest her. Mr. Ratcliff then 
said he 'd rather go shooting with you than any man 
he knows. 

Brood. I suppose that 's also because I 'm silent. 

Frederic. He says you 're the deadliest shot he 
knows. 

Mrs. Brood. What was said about your wonder- 
ful ability with the revolver.? Hitting quarters at 
thirty paces, was n't it? How interesting to have a 

[751 



BROOD HOUSE 



husband who can even see a quarter that far away. 
But, dear me, what can one expect to shoot at with 
a revolver? 

Brood. Nothing much, except mad dogs and men. 

Lydia. [fVide-eyed.] I wonder if you 've — 

Brood. [Intercepting.] No, I 've never shot a 
mad dog. But I 've heard enough about myself. 
What else is there to gossip about.? How did you 
like the new Mrs. Harding — the bride.'' 

Mrs. Brood. She 's very stupid. She says she 
does n't know how many cocktails her husband 
can drink. I 've known him less than half an hour 
and I can tell her that much. He can drink a little 
over two. Three make him very tight. I say, 
Freddie, did n't you — please wake up, Freddie — 
did n't you think Maisie Gunning was perfectly 
wonderful to-night .f' 

Frederic. Oh, was she.? 

Mrs. Brood. She never was so irresistible. There 
was n't anything to hold it on but just these little 
straps up here. Poor Dr. Hodder sat next to her, 
you remember, James. He told me after dinner that 
he could n't remember a word she said to him. 

Brood. Psychological. 

Lydia. How funny! I think Mrs. Gunning is 
very bright. 

[76] 



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Brood. I suppose you brought Hodder down 
with you in the machine. I told him you would 
drop him at his rooms. He 's just across the street 
from us now, Lydia. Likes the neighborhood. 

Mrs. Brood. [Glancing at Frederic] Who was 
the young woman with the lisp, Frederic.^ 

Frederic. [Quickly.] Miss Dangerfield. She 's a 
clever little thing. Comes from Virginia. Did you 
talk at all with her.^ Delicious voice and — 

Brood. [Breaking in.] By the way, did you bring 
Dr. Hodder down with you.'' 

Frederic. [Lamely.] I did n't think he was ready 
to come when we left. 

Brood. Then, you did n't bring him. That 's 
what I asked. I told you to do it, Frederic. It 's a 
wretched night for him to take his horses out. I 
remember that he said he 'd like to get home by ten 
or thereabouts. He has work to do in his labora- 
tory. Did you ask him if he was ready to come 
away ^ 

Mrs. Brood. Oh, he could get home all right, 
James. Besides, I feel as though I am in riding an 
ambulance when I 'm with him. Don't bother. 
He 's home long ago. 

Brood. [Quietly.] Of course, if you preferred to 
come down alone all well and good. But you '11 go 

l77] 



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over in the morning, Frederic, and tell him you 're 
sorry to have come off without him. 

Frederic. [Flaring.] I 'm not a child any longer, 
father. I may just as well tell you that I did n't ask 
him because he bores me and I did n't want him. 
And so I am not going over to him in the morning 
with any polite lies, either. 

Brood. [Looks at him steadily.] We won't discuss 
that to-night. To-morrow will be time enough. 

Lydia. [Agitated, in an aside to Brood.] Please, 
please, Mr. Brood, for my sake. 

Mrs. Brood. [With her chin in her hand, steadily 
zvatching the two men.] I think Dr. Hodder much 
preferred coming down with the Gunnings. As a 
matter of fact, James, he left with them just ahead 
of us. I was very much annoyed. He had promised 
to come down with me. I don't like a man who 
ignores me. He was very rude. 

Brood. Then, of course, there is no necessity for 
Frederic to beg his pardon. 

Frederic. I still say that I would n't have asked 
him. I did n't know he had gone with the Gunnings, 
Yvonne. So don't try to excuse me in that way. 

Brood. We will drop the subject. 

Frederic. [Striding forward.] Look here, father, 
I 've got to have a talk with you sooner or later. 

[78] 



BROOD HOUSE 



I 've got one or two things to tell you before I go to 
bed to-night. The time 's come. You 've just got 
to listen to me. [The two women start up and stare 
at him, Yvonne anxiously and Lydia in alarm.] 

Brood. What do you mean, sir.^ 

Frederic. [Glances at Yvonne.] This is n't the 
place to talk. 

Mrs. Brood. [Arising.] Shall we leave you alone .^ 

Brood. No! If there 's anything to be said, let 
him say it here, before all of us. As near as I can 
judge, we have quite an equal claim to his revela- 
tions. What is it, sir? 

Frederic. I 'd rather not — here. We 'd better 
have it out — alone. 

Brood. Have it out.^ 

Frederic. Yes. I 'm going to be treated as a 
son from this day on or — or I '11 know the reason 
why. [Goes to door L.] Will you come to the picture 
gallery.'' [Looks at his watch.] It's a quarter to 
eleven. I '11 not keep you long. 

Lydia. [Looking from one to the other in distress.] 
Don't be rash, Frederic — don't be imprudent. Re- 
member he is your — your father. 

Brood. [After hesitating a moment, goes up after 
him.] Permit me to say that / '// not keep you long. 
\To the ladies.] Will you wait here for the result of 

[79] 



BROOD HOUSE 



our deliberations? [Comes back to table and rings 
gong. Ranjah appears at R.\ Ranjab, will you see 
to it that the house is thoroughly locked? This is a 
glorious night for thieves and house-breakers. The 
servants downstairs are getting careless. Have the 
garden gates securely bolted. [To Mrs. Brood.] I 
have a strange feeling that an attempt will be made 
to rob me to-night. But don't be nervous. We '11 
soon sleep it off. Now, Frederic. 

[Exit Frederic and Broody L. U. E.\ 
[Mrs. Brood sits stark and silent, looking 
straight ahead of her. Lydia has her hand on her 
throat, watching the two men down the hall. Rail- 
jab pulls the window curtains close and banks the 
fire, and then, look'ng down the hall, departs at 
R. All the time there has been no change in the 
position oj the t:co uvmen.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Aside — speaking to herself.] I 
wonder if he is going to fail me? Is he finding his 
courage in one way, only to lose it in another? 
[Clenches her hands and arises to pace up stage. Seeing 
Lydia, she stops short.] 

Lydia. [Coming dozen.] You 'd — you 'd better 
stop them, Mrs. Brood. I can't tell you why — but 
it 's necessary — most necessary. 

I80I 



BROOD HOUSE 



Mrs. Brood. [Coldly.] I thouglit you had gone. 
No, don't go! I want to ask you why you arc so 
interested — why you are so nervous and unstrung? 
They can take care of themselves. And I am re- 
minded that you were very much upset when we 
came in a little while ago. [Insolently.] May I ask, 
Miss Desmond, if it is Mr. Brood you are in love 
with or his son.'' 

Lydia. [With dignity.] I might, with some reason, 
repeat that question to you, Mrs. Brood. 

Mrs. Brood. Well, I could answer it very plainly 
— if I chose. 

Lydia. I don't mean you to answer it. Good- 
night. 

Mrs. Brood. One moment, please. You were 
talking of PVederic and me when we came in. What 
were you saying.'* What was my husband saying.'' 

Lydia. We were not discussing you and Frederic. 

Mrs. Brood. I don't believe you. Miss Desmond. 
You were talking of us. I am not so blind as to think 
you are in love with my husband. It is Frederic. 
You are like a sick cat over him. My husband would 
not love you — he could not. I am the kind of 
woman he can love — no other. He is a man — he 
is not a plaything for children. So you were talking 
about us. He was telling you something. You were 

[8i] 



BROOD HOUSE 



filling him with vile suspicions because you are jeal- 
ous. You were — 

Lydia. Stop! You don't know what you are say- 
ing. I cannot answer for your husband, but for my- 
self, I am not blind to what is going on. You are 
absolutely wrecking that poor boy's life. Oh, it 's 
the most diabolical thing the world has ever known! 
What is your purpose.^ What do you gain.'' You 
have sapped his senses, his honor, his very heart — 
you leave him but the shell of his former self — and 
all for what.^ God alone knows! Oh, you are a 
vile woman! 

Mrs. Brood. [Suddenly cringes, after appearing 
indignant for a moment.] No, no! I am not! You 
— you don't understand — [suddenly catches herself 
and resumes her former manner]. What am I saying.'' 
Why, one might think I — Oh, so I am a vile woman, 
eh.'* Because I inspire jealousy in you.^ Because 
you have begun to see that Frederic does not care 
for you.'' Because your baby-blue eyes are opened, 
eh.'' That makes me vile, eh.'' Well, Miss Desmond, 
it may satisfy you to know that you are quite wel- 
come to Frederic's love — if you can get it. 

Lydia. Down in his heart, he loves me, Mrs. 
Brood. I know it. He is under a spell. Oh, I know! 
I can see it in his eyes when he gets you out of his 

f82l 



BROOD HOUSE 



mind for a moment. The wife of his father! God 
should strike you dead! 

Mrs. Brood. [Laughs coolly.] He will — when I 
have served my time, Miss Desmond. And there 's 
time enough for that. Don't let us waste any more 
of yours. Shall I see you in the morning.? 

Lydia. No, Mrs. Brood. When I go from this 
house to-morrow — God knows I 'd go to-night if — 
if I could — [involuntarily glancing off L.] — when 
I go to-morrow, it will be with the resolve never 
to enter it again so long as you are here as 
mistress. 

Mrs. Brood. How odd, Miss Desmond. I was 
just about to suggest it myself. 

Lydia. [Jfter a pause, studying Mrs. Brood closely.] 
I wonder how it will all end for you, Mrs. Brood. I 
wonder. [Suddenly kind.] I — I don't believe you 
comprehend. 

Mrs. Brood. [With a smile.] You mean, you 
don't believe that I am as bad as I think I am.? 

Lydia. I — I don't know just what I mean. 
Good-night. 

Mrs. Brood. [Nozv standing beside the Buddha, 
Lydia having stopped near the door R., to look off L. — 
In wonder, speaking to the Buddha.] Shall I go on 
with it? Shall I go on with it.? 

[83] 



BROOD HOUSE 



[Enter Brood L., quietly. Comes down with a 
hard smile.] 

Brood. Going to bed, Lydia? Well, good night. 
We '11 get at it again in the morning. By Jove, how 
the wind howls. [Goes up and opens window; a gust 
of wind and snow blows in.] I can scarcely see the 
light in your window down there, Yvonne. But I 
think it 's drifting now — sweeping down from the 
roof. Anyway, it 's fresh air. [Closes the window as 
both women shudder from the chill.] 

Lydia. I shall not be here in the morning, Mr. 
Brood. 

Brood. [Looks from one to the other.] Very well. 
I am sorry. Good night. 

[Lydia looks off L. and then exits. Brood goes 
to door R.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Tense and as if in suspense, stand- 
ing at left of table, afraid to look at him. SoHL] I 
wonder what they have said to each other.? Has 
everything been undone.? Am I found out already.? 
[Impulsively she strides up to door L., as if to rush to 
Frederic, but stops suddenly and then comes down 
stage as Brood does, his eyes having stopped her.] 

Brood. [While she waits for him to speak, he turns 
to the idol and bows his head.] I would, graven friend 

[84] 



BROOD HOUSE 



of my solitudes, that you and I had never come out 
of the land of unsolvable mysteries. 

Mrs. Brood. [After a long silence, shrilly.] Well? 

Brood. [Starts and turns to her.] Yvonne, I have 
hurt that boy beyond all chance of recovery. 

Mrs. Brood. [In a low, horrified tone.] Hurt him .^ 
[Comprehending.] Is he dying out there? 

Brood. I have hurt him with words. Yes, I have 
no doubt he is dying, but not out there. He will be 
a long time dying. But he has his own hand at his 
throat even now. It is only a question of time. He 
won't live — he won't care to live. 

Mrs. Brood. [Shrilly.] What have you done? 
You wretch, what have you done? 

Brood. [As if dazed.] I have killed his soul. 

Mrs. Brood. [Glaring at him across the table.] 
You could do it. You have no soul of your own. 

Brood. [Turning toward her.] That is why 26'*? are 
such friends. [Touching the idol with his hand.] 

Mrs. Brood. That poor, poor boy! Oh, God, 
James, what have you done to him? 

Brood. If I have killed his soul, Yvonne, it was 
done in time to keep you from damning it. 

Mrs. Brood. I see. What has he said to you 
about me? 

Brood. You have had your fears for nothing, my 
[85] 



BROOD HOUSE 



dear. He did not mention your name, nor did he 
refer to you in any way whatsoever. 

Mrs. Brood. [Triumphantly.] Ah! 

Brood. Yvonne, you have just called me a 
wretch. You judge me without a hearing. Sup- 
pose that I were to confess to you that I left him 
out there with a blasted look in his eyes — that I 
left him because I was sorry for what I had done, 
and I could not stand by and look at the wreck I 
had made. 

Mrs. Brood. But what of him? What is it to 
me that you are sorry now? What I want to know 
is this: what have you done to that unhappy boy? 

Brood. He '11 tell you soon enough in his own 
words. Then you will despise me even more than I 
despise myself. He looked at me with his mother's 
eyes when I struck that blow to the heart. Her eyes 
that were always pleading — but, damn them! — al- 
ways lying to me! God, for a moment I faltered. 
There was a wave of love — yes, love, not pity — 
that came over me as I looked at him. It was as 
though I had hurt a thing that I loved. Then it 
passed. He is not a thing for me to love. Some- 
times I have wondered — sometimes I have felt a 
queer gripping of the heart even when I was harshest 
toward him. I can't account for that. Sometimes 

[86] 



BROOD HOUSE 



his eyes have melted the steel that was driven into 
my heart long ago, and again his voice and the 
touch of his hand checked my bitterest impulses. 
Are you listening, Yvonne? 

Mrs. Brood. [Her eyes glitteringwith eagerness.] Yes. 

Brood. [Sitting at right of table and leaning for- 
ward.] You ask what I have done to him. It is as 
nothing in comparison to what he would have done 
to me. It is n't necessary to explain. I have known 
it quite as long as you, Yvonne. Again I say, it 's 
the heart of his mother that drives that boy's blood 
along its craven way. Yvonne, she was an evil 
woman — as evil as God ever put life into. 

Mrs. Brood. [Hoarsely.] Go on! [She sits oppo- 
site him.] 

Brood. I loved her as no woman ever was loved 
before or since. I thought she loved me — God, I 
believed she did. But I was not the man. There 
was another. She loved him. I 've never told this 
to you. You may have guessed, as others have 
guessed, but — but she betrayed me. She killed the 
thing that was best in her, that was best in me. Her 
lover was that boy's father. 

Mrs. Brood. [Her hands clenched unseen, under the 
table.] I am reminded of a translation from the French. 

Brood. Do not scoff"! That was years ago. To- 
[87] 



BROOD HOUSE 



night I intended to tell this to you — to let you 
understand, once for all, why there is no tenderness 
in my soul for that — that son of hers. I did not 
mean to tell Frederic — now. 

Mrs. Brood. [Shrinking.] But — but you have 
told him.? 

Brood. He stood before me out there and prayed 
to God that he might awake to find that he was not 
my son. 

Mrs. Brood. You told him then.? 

Brood. He cursed me for having driven his 
mother out of my house. 

Mrs. Brood. You told him.? 

Brood. He uttered the wish that she might come 
back from the grave to curse me for not being a 
good father to her child. 

Mrs. Brood. You told him then.? 

Brood. He said that his mother must have 
loathed me as no human being was ever^ — God! 
— was ever loathed before! Then I told him! 

Mrs. Brood. Because she did loathe you.? 

Brood. Yvonne! By God, you are laughing.? 

Mrs. Brood. I am merely wondering whether 
there was enough left to hurt him after so much of 
the poison had been used on you. And, then, James, 
what did he say.? 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. By heaven, I — I can't understand your 
mood. What do you mean ? Is it so trifling after all f 

Mrs. Brood. [Steadily.] I only know that after 
he had said all those things to you, and you had told 
him he was a bastard, that you — you, not he — 
was sorry. 

Brood. It may satisfy you to know that I did 
not expect sympathy from you. 

Mrs. Brood. Why should the strong expect 
sympathy from the wcak.^ 

Brood. I love you, Yvonne. 

Mrs. Brood. We all have our little weaknesses. 

Brood. [Studying her face.] Do you love 
Frederic.'' 

Mrs. Brood. You forget that I have looked upon 
him as your son. 

Brood. I '11 not pursue the point. 

Mrs. Brood. It is n't necessary, James. I can 
read your thoughts. If you had not thought that of 
me, you would have spared Frederic the blow you 
have just given him. Now, hear what I have to say: 
I am glad that he was able to strike first, to goad 
you out of your maddening self-esteem. You should 
not forget, James Brood, that the worm always turns. 
You have cherished the conviction that Frederic 
would always submit to the indignities you heap 

[89] 



BROOD HOUSE 



upon him. It has not entered that too solid head of 
yours that he is a full-grown man and that he has 
never seen anything in you to love. Why should he 
not treat you as a stranger.'' You have treated him 
as one — or even worse, for you would be gracious 
to a stranger. He has found the courage to turn 
upon you. He has routed you from your smug and 
complacent supremacy, and you squirm for the first 
time since I have known you. I 'm as proud of him 
as I am sorry for him. 

Brood. [Coldly.] It is worthy of note, Yvonne, 
that you and he should have discovered a vent for 
your opinions in almost the same breath. 

Mrs. Brood. You may attribute the coinci- 
dence to the fact that this is an age of dis- 
covery. Henceforth you may believe that there is 
nothing quite new, even under your sun. [Suddenly 
serious.] James, you are the only coward in our 
little family. 

Brood. Coward! 

Mrs. Brood. Yes. You have struck a man who 
was asleep, absolutely asleep. 

Brood. [Slowly.] Yes. I did. And I never 
came so near to loving him as I do now. 

Mrs. Brood. [Leaning forward intently.] Do you 
knozv that he is not your son.^ Do you know it.^ 

[90] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. Quite as well as I know that I am not his 
father. 

Mrs. Brood. Are you sure — have you always 
been sure — that his — his mother was the kind of 
woman you say she was? Have you never felt that 
you were wrong? 

Brood. Am I to listen to nothing but indictments ? 

Mrs. Brood. She was first in your love. You 
knew and loved her twenty years and more before 
you saw me, and she has never been out of your 
mind since the day you took her as your wife. I 
know this. Wait! I am not saying, James Brood, 
that you do not love me — or have not loved me — 
I might say. You could n't help it! You could n't 
help loving me. And in all this time that you have 
loved me, there has not been an instant in which you 
have not, down in your heart, caressed the memory 
of that other woman. You have held me in your 
arms and permitted, even encouraged, your imagina- 
tion to substitute another woman's never-to-be- 
forgotten kisses for mine. You have kissed Matilde 
all these months, not me. Matilde is dead, but to 
you she is still alive. 

Brood. [Deeply agitated.] Good God! What 
manner of woman are you? 

Mrs. Brood. Ah, I am right, am I not? 

[91] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. Why — why, I have n't dared admit that 
to myself. How should you even guess at such — 

Mrs. Brood. All the witches are not riding 
broomsticks and sweeping cobwebs, my husband. 
You wonder why I tell you this and yet submit to 
the incongruous conditions. Well, in the first place, 
I can't help what is; in the second place, I want 
nothing better than to be loved as Matilde was 
loved. I am willing to have the love that belonged 
to her; that is the only love you will ever be able to 
give. There never has been any other love in you. 
And now, since I am defending her son, I may as well 
speak one single sentence in her defense. I don't 
believe she was anything but a true and loving wife 
— and cruelly misunderstood. 

Brood. By heaven, Yvonne, I can't listen to this! 
You — 

Mrs. Brood. Let me ask you a single question: 
what did Frederic say to you when you told him 
that his mother was a bad woman.? 

Brood. [Confusedly.] He — he said I was a liar 



a cur 



Mrs. Brood. And that was when you began to 
feel that you loved him. Ah, I can see it in your 
eyes. Yes, James Brood, you are a big man. You 
are the most wonderful man I have ever known. 

[92] 



BROOD HOUSE 



You have a heart, James Brood — a heart that still 
needs breaking before you will see that it 's there. 

Brood. My God, if my heart has n't been broken! 

Mrs. Brood. Your head has been hurt, my good 
friend, and there 's a vast diflference. I don't believe 
that she was ever in love with the music master. 

Brood. [Startled — and intensely.] How did you 
know there was a music master.^ 

Mrs. Brood. [Momentarily dismayed.] How do I 
know a great many things.? 

Brood. That is n't answering my question. Not 
until to-night have I ever mentioned the existence 
of the — the music master. Damn him! How do 
you come to know of him, Yvonne? Were you 
eavesdropping while Lydia and I were talking 
to-night.? 

Mrs. Brood. Eavesdropping? You know better 
than that. I do not stoop to that, sir. The music 
master? How do I know about him? Is he not 
there in your head all the time? Is he not as much 
of a personality as Matilde, even now? Well, then! 
Now, I have something more for you. Listen: can 
you not recognize the familiar strain of music as I tap 
it off with my fingers? [She taps on table top, with 
fingers' ends, the rythmic time of ''La Paloma,'' watch- 
ing his petrified face with a curious smile on her lips.] 

[93I 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. [Glaring at her in amazement and dread.] 
Great God, Yvonne! 

Mrs. Brood. That always comes into your head 
when music is pronounced. It is the one air you 
know. [Hums the waltz and taps at the same time.] 
You followed me.'' 

Brood. In God's name, woman, how do you do 
this.? What witchcraft is this.'' 

Mrs. Brood. Ranjab performs wonders with his 
hands. I, too, have clever fingers, eh.'' He is no 
greater magician than I. 

Brood. [Standing and regarding her savagely.] You 
will have to explain this to me. I demand it of you- 

Mrs. Brood. There is nothing to explain. I 
read you as I would a book. That is all. It is very 
simple. I have not read you for a year to no pur- 
pose. [Suddenly earnest.] Are you not sorry that 
you have hurt that boy.'' Are you not sorry now 
that you hurt her those long years ago.? Are you 
not sorry to-night that she is dead.? 

Brood. [Furiously,] No! If she were here tc-night 
I should drive her out into the world as I did twenty 
years ago — only if I had it to do over again I would 
not rear her child to man's estate. I would kill him 
with my own hands the day he was born if I had it to 
do over again. Now, you understand how I feel about 

[94] 



BROOD HOUSE 



it? And, listen to me! Once for all, that boy steps 
out of your life as completely to-night as he steps 
out of mine. Do you understand? It is not a ques- 
tion of choosing between us. I have chosen for you. 
You will not see him after to-night. This time I am 
going to keep my wife. 

Mrs. Brood. [Looking down; in sullen, low tones.] 
I am quite sure that you will not have the opportun- 
ity to drive me out into the street. [Arising quickly.] 
And, now, James, I am going to see Frederic. 

Brood. I don't think that is necessary. 

Mrs. Brood. I am going to see him! 

Brood [Sarcastically.] Please remain where you 
are. He will come to you — as soon as I have gone. 
Perhaps it is better that I leave you alone to say 
good-by to him. I have already said it to him. 
Kindly stop in my room on your way to bed. There 
is still something I would say to you. 

[Exit Brood R.] 

[Mrs. Brood'* s sullen gaze follows him through 
the door. Then she quickly goes over and listens 
at the door R., afterwards looking off L. intently. 
She comes down C. to right of table with a per- 
plexed frown on her face. She stands there think- 
ing, working her fingers spasmodically.] 

[95] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Mrs. Brood. [Suddenly letting her gaze rest upon 
the idol at her side, speaking slozcly, after smiling 
vaguely upon the object.] Well, my chatterbox friend, 
I got through the crust, didn't I.^* [Very erect and 
triumphant, her hands behind her back.] I pierced his 
armor. He '11 tell you all about how It felt, never 
fear. He'll creep up here and ask you to tell him 
what to do about it. He 's very busy guessing about 
it now. Your confidential friend, my husband, has 
had his wits tangled at last. And when he comes 
here to spout his secret doubts into your dainty ear, 
just you look wise and mysterious, because I 'm 
going to whisper a secret to you, and it is not to go 
any farther, do you mind.'' Listen! [She puts her 
lips to the idoVs ear and zvhispers.] So! Now you 
know. I 've told it to you before. And it is no 
secret that James Brood is wondering at this very 
moment just what his beautiful Yvonne will do next! 
[Reflectively, an angry look in her eyes.] Well, he '11 
know before long. [Turns to look at door L.] 

[A momeyit later Frederic enters from door at L. 
There is a haggard, serious look in his face, but 
otherwise he is erect and defiant. She stands with 
her hands behind her, looking at him. He stops 
up stage and returns her look.] 
[96] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Mrs. Brood. [After a short silence.] I am glad to 
see that you take it like a man. 

Frederic. It does n't make any difference be- 
tween you and me, then.'' 

Mrs. Brood. Come here, Frederic. We are quite 
alone. He has gone to bed. [Frederic hastens down 
to her side. She puts her hand upon his shoulder and 
holds him away.] There is nothing left for you to do 
but leave this house. 

Frederic. Leave it! By heaven, Yvonne, it 
was n't necessary for him to order me to go. Why 
— why, I would n't have stayed after — after, well, 
you know — not if it were to save his life a hundred 
times over. 

Mrs. Brood. You are to go to-morrow. 

Frederic. No, I am going to-night. 

Mrs. Brood. To-night.'' No, no! Not so soon. 
Frederic, you are forgetting me. 

[Enter Ranjab quietly^ unobserved R. He starts 
in surprise. He listens for a few minutes before 
lifting his hands as if in execration^ and cau- 
tiously tiptoes off R\ 

Frederic. You mean that you — you want me 
to stay.'' I can't believe that. 

[97] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Mrs. Brood. No! You can't stay here. I want 
you to go. But, Frederic, I am going with you. 

Frederic. Yvonne! 

Mrs. Brood. Yes! Stop! You must not do that. 
We are still under my husband's roof. 

Frederic. But you don't love him! I thought 
you did to-night. I thought you 'd been playing 
with me. You made me feel ashamed in spite of 
myself. Now that I — that he does not consider 
me to be his son, I am no longer afraid. I glory in 
my power to take you from him. What joy it will 
be to do this thing to him. By God, I '11 make him 
sorry for what he said to me out there! 

Mrs. Brood. Sh! Not so loud. This is no place 
to talk it over. We may be heard. Don't speak, 
please, and don't be foolish. I intend to go away 
with you. To-morrow early you will engage passage 
on the first good boat to Cherbourg. I have thought 
it all out. You will take passage for yourself and 
sister — no, no! Sister, do you hear.'' I mean that, 
Frederic. You have still to prove your love for me 
before you can hope to win all there is of mine. I 
will go away from here with you. That is the 
beginning. 

Frederic. [Joyously.] Yes, yes! To-morrow I '11 
take passage on — on — 

[98] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Mrs. Brood. The fastest ship. Now, listen to 
me. I have in my jewel safe money amounting to 
ten thousand dollars. It is my own money. You 
have no money of your own. He has kept yours 
from you and you have not yet earned enough at 
your profession. Poor boy! Well, you must take 
some of this, that I have stored away. You must 
take all of my jewels — and you must get them 
away from here to-night. For the fastest boat sails 
at noon to-morrow. Do you know that? The fastest 
boat sails at noon to-morrow! 

Frederic. [Stunned.] You — you really are going 
to leave him.? God, I — I can't believe it! 

Mrs. Brood. Don't you want me to go? 

Frederic. [Confused.] I — yes, yes! Of course, 
I do. I — I was only thinking — 

Mrs. Brood. Thinking of Lydia! You are won- 
dering what she will think of you. Very well. Go 
alone! 

Frederic. It 's not only Lydia. Of course, I 'd 
rather that she did not think evil of me — Oh, but 
what's the odds! What am I to talk like this? 
I 'm — nobody. Yes, you are to go with me. To- 
morrow we '11 sail. By my soul, I '11 smash him — 
I '11 smash him! 

Mrs. Brood. [Keenly.] You 're rather half- 

[99] 



BROOD HOUSE 



hearted about it, I see. Not so eager as you have 
professed to be for a week. Is my so-called spell 
wearing off.'' 

Frederic. Yvonne, I '11 be perfectly frank with 
you. My fath — he crushed all the romance out of 
my heart out there a little while ago. I don't care 
to live now except to prove to myself that I am a 
man. The glitter is gone. It fell away as I sat out 
there alone and fought down the impulse to go down 
and put a bullet in my brain. Things are not what 
they were an hour ago. I am not the same man. 

Mrs. Brood. No. The world will know to-morrow 
that you are not his son. 

Frederic. What do you mean.? He can't ac- 
knowledge that to the world. 

Mrs. Brood. He has already told Miss Desmond 
— and she — she has turned against you. He will 
tell others. 

Frederic. He has told Lydia.'' 

Mrs. Brood. Before he told either you or me. 
Oh, he damned your mother long before he damned 
you. He 's a practised artist at it, my dear. He 
commanded me not to see you again. He said he 
would beat me if I did. Just as he said he had 
beaten your mother, years ago. 

Frederic. No, Yvonne — he swore that he wor- 
[ loo] 



BROOD HOUSE 



shiped her, I — I don't believe he did that. He 
lied to frighten you. 

Mrs. Brood. So be It. I know not. You are a 
wise young man. You know more now than you 
knew yesterday. I submit to your supreme reason. 
[Suddenly clutches his coat sleeve and brings her face 
close to his.] Enough of this. Do you love me? Do 
you want to leave me here with him.'' Speak, once 
for all. I am ready to go away with you. 

Frederic. Yes! I cannot go without you! Tell 
me what to do! Tell me! You are cool and clever. 
I am upset — I can't think. Tell me, Yvonne. 
Thank God, I am not your step-son! It lifts some- 
thing off my conscience that has weighed like a ton 
of stone. I 'm not the dog I might have been. 

Mrs. Brood. I '11 give you such love as you have 
never dreamed of. I '11 take you to Hung'ary — to 
your mother's people — to the place where she died. 
Estates are waiting for you there. You need never 
want for anything — but I want you to work and 
be a man. I want the world to be proud of you — 
and I want him to regret more than ever the thing 
he has done. It is late. We must not stay here any 
longer. See if there is a light in his room. [Frederic 
goes quickly to the windows and pulls the curtains aside, 
peering downward and off L. The snow is no longer 

Iioi] 



BROOD HOUSE 



flying, and there is a glow of moonlight over everything, 
streaming in upon him.] 

Frederic. Yes. No — It has just been extin- 
guished. He is in bed. I see the light still in your 
room, Yvonne — just beyond his. It has stopped 
snowing and — yes, the moon is shining. [Comes 
dozvn eagerly and clasps her hands.] I — I am mad 
with excitement. What — what am I to do.^ 

Mrs. Brood. I shall go to my room at once and 
get the money and the jewels together. You must 
get them away with you to-night. No one shall 
ever know. They are mine — so do not have the 
fear that I would make a thief of you. No, you are 
not stealing me, my dear, I — I am stealing you — 
I am! Come to my room in half an hour and I will 
give you the packages. Then go to a hotel — first 
taking such belongings of your own that you may 
want. Remember you are leaving this house for- 
ever. No one can stop you if you go out with your 
bags and belongings. Come quietly to my room — 
we can talk over the plans there. It is not safe here. 

Frederic. But how am I to get to your boudoir 
without disturbing hlm.^ I can't go through his 
room. 

Mrs. Brood. [Exasperated.] I forgot! You can- 
not! [Goes quickly up stage to the window, motioning 

[ 102] 



BROOD HOUSE 



to him. He follows. Then with her finger to her lips 
she leads him down C] You can come up over the 
balcony to my window. I will let you in. 

Frederic. Climb up the vines, you mean.'' Gad, 
Yvonne, that 's risky. Suppose — 

Mrs. Brood. What a pretty hero! Are you 
afraid.'' You have begged me to let you climb up 
before now. Why are you so soon a coward.'' 

Frederic. I can do it — of course. I'm only 
thinking of you. 

Mrs. Brood. It is dark down there in the court 
and the wind is blowing. You can't be seen or 
heard. 

[At this juncture Ranjah steps inside the door 
R., and cautiously beckons to Brood outside. As 
he steps out Brood glides in, and stands glaring 
at the couple down stage, unseen himself. Ranjab 
holds a curtain aside near the door and Brood 
steps behind it, being screened from view.] 

Frederic. Oh, this will be revenge! This will 
pay for everything! 

Mrs. Brood. In half an hour it will be safe 
enough. I will have everything ready. Come up 
over the balcony. You are strong. You can climb 
those great vines as a cat would climb. 

[ 103 ] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Frederic. You — you really love me enough for 
this ? 

Mrs. Brood. Time alone will prove that to you, 
Frederic. 

Frederic. In half an hour! I '11 be there. I 've 
climbed those vines ever since I was a little boy. I 
climbed them like a cat and I was trying to catch the 
birds. After all these years, I shall at last succeed 
in catching one. 

Mrs. Brood. Let me go, now. But, Frederic, be 
sure! Be careful! Nothing must go wrong now. 
[She tears her hands from his and hurries up to door R. 
There she hesitates^ directly in front of the place where 
Brood is hiding.] I am not sure that he is asleep. 
[Laughs softly.] He has much to think of to-night. 

[Exit quickly.] 

[Frederic goes up and looks out of the zvindozv 
towards L., then comes down to the cupboard and 
takes a big drink of brandy, after which he goes up 
to R. and looks off through the door before going 
downstairs. Exit Frederic] 

[A moment later Brood steps from behind the 

curtain and stands before the door like a statue. 

He comes slowly down stage, passing his hand 

over his eyes doubtingly, apparently convincing 

[ 104] 



BROOD HOUSE 



himself that the couple really had stood before him 
on a certain spot, Business, ad lib. It suddenly 
dawns upon him that he is being betrayed. A 
single bitter groan falls from his lips and his 
head droops, his fingers clenched. After a mo- 
ment he pulls himself together and turns to the 
idol.] 

Brood. [Slowly.] Ten minutes ago I was cursing 
myself for being cruel to him. Ten minutes ago 
down in my heart I was loving him. It was not 
pity, it was love. He took it like a man — not like 
a cur. And I saw my own features in his face — I 
heard something like my own tone in his voice. 
God, how I was deceiving myself! [Goes up and looks 
off L. through window. Then comes down and takes 
up striker to ring gong, but reconsiders and steps 
towards the door R. As he does so, Ranjab enters. 
They face each other for a moment in silence.] 

Ranjab. Master, I have handled the deadly 
cobra in my own land. I have held it to my breast 
and it has not struck me. I have played with deadly 
serpents as children play with toys. Ranjab can 
tell the feel of a serpent that will sting. Does the 
master know what Ranjab did in the old days to the 
serpent that would sting.? 

[105] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. Ranjab, are the doors securely locked? 
Are the gates of the garden bolted? 

Ranjab. Yes, master. 

Brood. Only the most audacious and daring bur- 
glar could force his way into the house .^ 

Ranjab. Yes, master. 

Brood. It is a splendid night for thieves, Ranjab. 
They are abroad. You may go. Good-night. 

[Exit Ranjab L.] 

[Brood quietly watches him off and then calmly 
lights a cigar at the table. After this he opens a 
drawer and takes therefrom a long revolver, the 
chambers of which he examines. Then he turns 
down the lights and goes up to the window, drawing 
aside the curtain in the window which opens 
toward the left. He unlatches the window and 
throws it open. Then, folding his arms, he stands 
there with the pistol in his hand, waiting, the moon- 
light streaming in upon him.] 

CURTAIN 

[End of Act II.] 



[io6 



BROOD HOUSE 



ACT THIRD 

Scene: Same as Act II., tzventy minutes later. Lights 
still low. Brood discovered standing in the window, 
staring down into the courtyard. After the picture 
has been held for some moments, he slowly and 
deliberately levels the revolver, taking careful aim. 
Then he fires one shot through the window. An 
instant later a hoarse cry of agony comes up from 
below, a wail that is cut off short by the fall to the 
ground. Brood lowers the pistol and peers out 
over the window ledge. As he walks quickly 
toward the table, a muffled shriek comes up through 
the hall and then a window is slammed shut far 
below. He has left the window open through 
which he fired the shot, and the curtains are 
blowing. At the table he grasps the stick and 
pounds vigorously upon the gong. Then he stands 
like a graven image awaiting the approach of 
Ranjab. 

Enter Ranjab quickly at R. He glances first at 
the open window and then glides down to his 
master^s side. 

[ 107 ] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. Telephone for the police! I have shot a 
burglar. Arouse the servants. Call Mr. Frederic. 

Ranjab. [His teeth showing in a fierce smile.] Mas- 
ter! Out there .^ 

Brood. Yes! In the garden. He was climbing 
up the vines. I shot him. Go! 

[Exit Ranjab quickly R.^ glancing at the window 
as he goes.] 

[Brood turns up the lights in the lamps and 
then takes his stand before the idol and speaks 
slowly^ with deadly calmness.] 

Brood. They said I was the best pistol shot in 
India ten years ago. I could hit a shilling at thirty 
paces. [Levels pistol.] My hand is still as steady as 
iron. [Doors are heard slamming downstairs and 
voices come up from the courtyard.] 

A Man's Voice. [Outside.] What's happened.'' 
Who fired that shot.? 

Another Voice. Good God, there 's — there 's 
a man lying down there in the snow. 

[A door slams heavily far below.] 
[Brood sits down heavily at the table., his eyes 
glued to the door R. Unconsciously he begins to 
[io8] 



BROOD HOUSE 



drum on the table with his fingers and then hums 
aloud the opening strains of ^^ La Paloma.^^] 

[Enter Mrs. Brood, door R., extremely agitated, 
her eyes wide with terror and despair. She is 
attired in a loose oriental dressing-gown of vivid 
colors. Just inside the door she pauses for a sec- 
ond, and then slowly advances toward him, stop- 
ping to give a comprehensive glance at the open 
window. As she draws near, he arises and she 
sees the revolver in his hand, whereupon she shrinks 
away in sudden terror, slowly moving hack as if 
fascinated. He coolly chucks the revolver into the 
open drawer and folds his arms. She suddenly 
turns to the window and peers over the ledge, draw- 
ing back a time or two, and then staring wildly 
below. He looks out over the footlights. 

Mrs. Brood. [Shrilly.] They are carrying him 
into the house. Ranjab has recognized him — yes, 
and the others! The women are crying. God, why 
do they let his head hang down like that.'' [Puts her 
hands over her eyes and then, collecting her nerves, she 
comes swiftly down and clutches his arm.] Do you 
know what you have done.'' 

Brood. [Quietly.] I have shot a thief. 

Mrs. Brood. You have killed Frederic Brood. 
[109] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. They said I could hit a shilling at thirty 
paces. I have shot a thief. 

Mrs. Brood. You — you knew it was Frederic! 

Brood. [Looking calmly into her eyes.] You are 
right! I did know. I have shot a thief. 

Mrs. Brood. [Stares at him in horror.] You shot 
him because of me.^ 

Brood. I shot a man who was breaking into my 
house at midnight. Ranjab has telephoned for the 
police. Go to bed, Yvonne. There is nothing for 
you to do — at present. 

Mrs. Brood. Nothing for me to do.f* There is! 
The police must not come here. They must be 
stopped. God in heaven, I — I did not mean that it 
should come to this. 

Brood. To-morrow you will be free to explain to 
the police. For to-morrow you will go out from this 
house as one other woman went, a score of years ago. 
Save your strength for that. You will need it. 

Mrs. Brood. Let me explain — let me tell you 
the — 

Brood. There is nothing to explain. I know 
everything. You devil! Now I see why I loved you 
so! You are like her in every respect — to the very 
core of your heart! 

Mrs. Brood. [Wringing her hands.] They are 
[no] 



BROOD HOUSE 



coming here! Listen! Some one is coming up the 
stairs! Wha — v/hat are you going to say to them 
when they tell you that you have slain your own son? 

Brood. That they lie! 

Mrs. Brood. Oh, oh, it was an accident! You 
did n't know! 

Brood. Yes, a horrid, unbelievable accident. 
Trust me, my dear, to be properly shocked and 
overcome. 

[Enter Ranjab R., quite imperturbably.] 

Ranjab. a most dreadful thing has happened, 
master. I know not how to tell you. 

Brood. You don't mean, Ranjab, that the fel — 
fellow has escaped? 

Ranjab. No, master. [Looking straight at Mrs. 
Brood.] I have to report a grave misfortune, sir. 
You have shot the wrong person. 

Mrs. Brood. [Straightening at the implication.] 
Speak plainly. 

Brood. I was very careful of my aim, Ranjab. 
What do you mean? 

Ranjab. It is hard to tell you, master. Through 
some strange fatality you have shot Mr. Frederic. 

Mrs. Brood. [To Brood, with scorn.] There you 
have it! Now rave and tear your hair. 

[Ill] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. [Quietly.] I think we three understand 
each other. Ranjab, you told me that Mr. Frederic 
was in bed. 

Ranjab. Yes, master. But you forget his ex- 
traordinary habit of walking in his sleep. 

Brood. He retired an hour or more ago. Did he 
not, Yvonne.? You remember that he retired a few 
minutes after your return from the RatcliflFs'. 

Mrs- Brood. [Cringing.] Yes, yes! An hour ago. 
Will — will the police ask — ask all of those questions.? 

Brood. You have telephoned for the police, 
Ranjab.? 

Ranjab. Not yet, master. I — I waited to see if 
— if it were necessary. 

Brood. If he were dead you would have 
telephoned.? 

Ranjab. Yes, master. 

Mrs. Brood. [Shrilly.] Then he is not dead.? 

Ranjab. No, madam. 

Brood. And they said I could hit a shilling at — 

Mrs. Brood. Oh, you heartless, unfeeling beasts! 
[Sharply, to Ranjab.] Where is he.? Where have 
you taken him.? 

Ranjab. To his own room, madam. The ser- 
vants are excited — especially the maids. The 
wound is in his left breast — above the heart. One 

[112] 



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arm is fractured — as if by a fall. They are not ac- 
customed to blood. 

Mrs. Brood, I am going to him. There — there 
must be a chance. The doctor — the surgeon — 
James, why don't you call one at — 

Ranjab. Madam will hasten if she desires to see 
Mr. Frederic alive. 

Mrs. Brood. He shall not die! No, no! That 
was not what I meant — I swear it, James. I — I 
did not intend that harm should come to him. I do 
not wonder that you look at me like that. You do 
not understand. No one understands. Frederic 
did not understand — poor boy. For God's sake, 
James — if you love me, if you loved Matilde — 
send for Dr. Hodder. He's just across the street! 
Don't let this thing happen. If you ever loved me! 
[He is coldly silent and she continues after a pause.] 
Then I shall send for him. I am wasting time plead- 
ing with you. Ranjab, you are not to telephone to 
the police. Do you hear.? It will be time enough if 
— if he should die. Then — [laughs wildly] then 
you can tell them that he walked in his sleep. That 
will save what is left of family respect. James, you 
will see the servants. You will tell — God, I forgot 
her! You will tell Miss Desmond. He loved her! 
He loved her! 

[113] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. [Looking at her sharply.] What are you 
saying? 

Mrs. Brood. He loved Lydia Desmond. Pah, it 
was not love that he felt for me! No more was it 
love, as you call it, that I felt for him. [Up stage] 
I've known it all along. He was tricked! I — I, do 
you see — I tricked him — just as I started out to 
trick you! Wait! Wait until I have done all I can 
for him. Then I will come back to this room, and 
I shall have something to say to you. 

[Exit Mrs. Brood R.] 

Brood. [To Ranjah.] Close that window. I am 
chilled to the bone. [Ranjah closes the zvindozu.] Will 
ho die? 

Ranjab. Yes, master. 

Brood. Soon? 

Ranjar. Perhaps now, master. 

Brood. [Hesitating.] Dr. Hodder could do 
nothing? 

Ranjab. I'm afraid not. It i^ very bad. 

Brood. Did you hear what she said about — 
about tricking him? 

Ranjah. Yes, master. 

Brood. What did she mean? 

Ranjah. The ways of the cobra are mysterious. 
[114] 



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Brood. Ran jab, — I — I — [his hand to his eyes] 
— perhaps you would better go for Dr. Hoddcr. 1 
_ I _ Good God, I can't let him die like this! We 
must do something for the sake of appearances. Wc 
must stop the tongues of the servants. Go ! 

Ranjab. You will not come down to see him? 

Brood. His eyes.? His eyes, Ranjab.? 

Ranjab. He was conscious, master. They were 

open. 

Brood. Then I — I can't look at them. I can't 

see him! 

[J door slams downstairs.] 

Ranjab. [Looking off R.] Some one has just 
come in from the street, master. 

Brood. An officer.? He heard the shot. Tell him 
I — I cannot be seen at present. I — 

Ranjab. It is a woman, master. She is coming 
upstairs. [Steps outside and returns at once.] Dr. 
Hodder came in with her. She is coming here. 

[Stands hack and waits for the entrance of Lydia 
Desmond.] 

[Lydia enters R., stepping up as if about to 
speak to Brood. Then she suddenly puts her 
hands over her eyes as if to shut out something 
[115] 



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horrible to the sight. Brood motions to Ranjab to 
leave the room. Exit Ranjab. Lydia suddenly 
turns as if to fly from the room.] 

Brood. [In distress.] Lydia! Lydia! [She stops 
and slowly faces him.] Don't do that! 

Lydia. [Coming swiftly down to him, her wide eyes 
bent upon his face.] I — oh, it was so startling! 
Your face! It was so like his, just then. 

Brood. Like his? Frederic's.^ 

Lydia. Yes, yes! Oh, Mr. Brood! [Sinks into 
the chair at right of the table and drops her head upon 
her arms.] 

Brood. [After a moment., puts his hand upon her 
hair.] You know, then? It was you who ran for 
Dr. Hodder? [Lydia shrinks from his hand in horror. 
He looks at it quickly, as if fearing that there might be 
blood upon it.] You know why — why I lired from 
that window, Lydia? You know how it all came 
about? 

Lydia. [Lifting her head, her hands to her temples.] 
I only know that you wanted to kill him. Mr. 
Brood, you wanted to murder him long before that 
shot was fired. No matter what caused you to fire 
it to-night, the impulse was not a new one. Your 
chance came. You took it and gloated. You knew 

[116I 



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it was Frederic down there long before you fired. 
You were waiting for him as a cat waits for a bird. 
And you have done what you set out to do. You 
will say it was an accident, a horrible, frigfltful mis- 
take, and no one can deny you. Not even I! 

Brood. [Calmly.] If all that you say were true, 
my child, even then it would be better if I were not 
denied. As it now stands, the world will blame and 
pity me for killing my own son by mistake while he 
was walking in his sleep. The world will deplore 
the sad, dreadful fate of a fair-named, honored 
young man. The world will never know who and 
what he was nor why he actually came to his end. 
I — I am sorry for your sake. [Stops and stares hard 
at her.] You — you said something about my face 
and his just now. It was nervousness. You have 
seen him; you were filled with visions of what you 
had just seen. A fancy, Lydia, — a fancy. 

Lydia. [Arising.] So sure as you stand there 
with that look of awful doubt in your eyes, that 
shudder of fear in your heart, Mr. Brood, I did see 
his face in yours. 

Brood. [Turning away nervously — then facing 
her hotly.] I suppose you know that he was climb- 
ing up the vines to — to the balcony. 

Lydia. I don't believe it! 

[117] 



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Brood. What! Lydia! I swear it! 

Lydia. It will do to tell the police. But this is 
not what I came up here for. Even now he may be 
breathing his last. You may not be in time to see 
him alive. Mr. Brood, I demand that you come 
with me to him now — to tell him that you lied to 
him out there in the gallery. On his death bed you 
must tell him that you lied to him. He won't re- 
proach you. He cannot. He cannot speak. Your 
place is at his side now; it is not the place for the 
woman who would have damned his soul to the end 
of eternity. Come! She is there! You must drive 
her away from that bedside. Come! 

Brood. And if I refuse.'' 

Lydia. [Suddenly breaking down.] Oh, Mr. Brood, 
you can't refuse — you can't be so heartless. 

Brood. The time has passed when I can care for 
the good or bad opinion of any one. You are at 
liberty to think what you please of me. Miss Des- 
mond, once for all, it was a thief in the night whom 
I shot. Do you understand.^ 

Lydia. [Facing him bravely.] Yes, I understand. 
Have it your way. But no matter what he was, no 
matter what he was about to do, no matter how you 
hated him for what he had already done, Mr. Brood, 
you shot him down without giving him a chance. 

[ii8] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brave men don't shoot thieVes — even thieves — in 
the back! 

Brood. [Taking a step toward her.] Stop, I say! 
[She shrinks from him in sudden fear^ and, with glar- 
ing eyes, backs towards the door and then quickly 
escapes.] 

Brood. [Staring after her, and looking at his 
hands.] Good God, did she think I would strike 
her.^ Did she fear me in that — [his hand to his 
eyes] — Am I, after all, a murderer — a man to be 
feared — a man to be cursed.'* Damn them all, no! 
[Goes up suddenly and looks from the window; then 
comes back to the table nervously.] She meant that 
he — he had no chance, no warning. That I shot 
him in the back. Brave men do not shoot thieves — 
even thieves — in the back. Those were her words. 
She saw his face in mine! Pooh! That was excite- 
ment — fear. What feeling is that that comes over 
me.f' Remorse, regret, fear.'' No, no! He was 
worse than a thief! He — he — but who made him 
what he was.^* Why should he hesitate to steal from 
me.? Did he owe me anything but hatred.? What 
could my honor mean to him.? After all that I had 
just taken from him — no, no! He laid his plans 
before that. He began weeks ago! Before he 
knew. [Thinking.] But what chance had he out 

[119] 



BROOD HOUSE 



there, clinging to that vine, his eyes, his thoughts, 
his heart set on that temptress above? What chance 
did I give him then? [Comes to cupboard and pours 
out a large drink of liquor. His hand shakes as he 
raises it to his lips. Before drinking, he stops to watch 
his hand as it trembles. By an effort he succeeds in 
steadying the hand, whereupon he sets the glass down 
and walks away.] My nerves were going! That's 
bad! There's something wrong! [After waiting a 
moment he starts to leave the room by the door at R., 
plainly resolved to go to the side of Frederic \ No ! I 
can't go down there! I cannot see him! He knows 
that I did not give him a chance! [Goes to the table 
and strikes the gong — at first timidly. Getting no re- 
sponse, he pounds it violently.] 

[Ranjab enters, as if out of breath.] 
Well? 

Ranjab. Dr. Hodder is there, master. 

Brood. What does he say? 

Ranjab. I do not know. The door is locked. 

Brood. [Quickly.] Is there any one else with 
him? 

Ranjab. Yes, master, Mrs. Brood. 

Brood. He permitted her to go in, eh? 

Ranjab. She was there when he arrived, master. 
She would not go out. The butler has just tele- 

[ 120] 



BROOD HOUSE 



phoned for another doctor. And Madam has sent 
Robert for a priest. 

Brood. A priest? But I am not a Catholic — nor 
Frederic. 

Ranjab. Madam is. 

Brood. [Sitting down abruptly.] Ranjab, it means 
that the — that the end is at hand.^" 

Ranjab. Yes, master. The servants are saying 
that the priest will be here too late. They are won- 
dering why you have not already killed me. 

Brood. Killed you! 

Ranjab. They are saying that the last ring of 
that gong, master, was the sounding of my death 
knell. It called me here to be slain by you. 

Brood. What do you mean,'' 

Ranjab. That I am to pay the penalty for my 
mistake. I have told Dr. Hodder in the presence of 
the servants that I fired the unhappy shot. Miss 
Desmond would have denied me, but — 

Brood. [Arising.] Ranjab, I cannot allow this. 
You are a — a noble friend, but — no, you must go 
down to them at once and say that I fired the shot, 
not you. Do as I tell you! No, better than that: 
keep them together in the dining-room until I come 
down. I shall tell them the truth myself. 

Ranjab. The truth, master.? 

[121] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. Yes, the truth! 

Ranjab. Remember, master, that he will be 
dead. He will have paid for his folly. Hear me, 
master. Let him not go to the grave dishonored. 
He was not to blame, but he has paid. 

Brood. Go, now, and tell them that I will come 
down — after the priest has departed. That will be 
after — [hesitates]. 

Ranjab. Yes, master. [Going.] But why not let 
them believe that I — 
Brood. No! Now, go! 

[Exit Ranjab R.] 
[Brood goes over quickly and takes up the glass 
of whiskey, only to put it down again a moment 
later, untouched^ 

Brood. [Going to the table, and sitting down at the 
right of it — a drawn look in his face.] Matilde — 
Matilde, I have killed your boy — I have killed 
your boy! I wonder if you were looking at me when 
I did it. Were you hovering near him when I — 
[Suddenly pulls himself together.] What am I saying.'' 
Am I losing my mind? 

[Enter Riggs, followed by Dawes, at R., partly 
dressed and considerably agitated. Without see- 
[122] 



BROOD HOUSE 



ing Brood, both of them hasten to the cupboard 
and ".vith trembling hands begin jostling the 
bottles, each pouring a drink nervously, which he 
tosses off. Then, each politely motions for the 
other to refill, both doing so with alacrity.] 

RiGGS. If I had had these two drinks inside me 
five minutes ago I don't believe that confounded 
doctor could have put me out of the room. Damn 
him, who has more right in there than I, best friend 
to his father? 

Dawes. You were in the way, Joseph, there's no 
denying that. 

RiGGS. In the way? [Sniffling.] In the way? 
Why, confound you, Dawes, somebody had to take 
charge of matters. Nobody but damned servants 
there — and women. Especially she. Then to have 
'em order me out of the room! I intend to thrash 
that doctor just as soon as — What did you say? 

Dawes. I did n't say a word. 

RiGGS. I thought you said I could n't. Never 
say that, Dawes. 

Dawes. [Catching sight of Brood, who is looking 
at them immutably.] Ahem! [They stare at him for 
a moment, in silence.] James, has — has any one 
told you what's going on downstairs? 

[123] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. Ranjab has brought word to me. You 
know, of course, my friends, that it was I who shot 
him — from that window. 

RiGGS. They were all saying that until — until — 
I — I suddenly remembered that it was I who fired 
from my window. I saw a man and I was half asleep 
and I — 

Dawes. [Catching the inspiration.] You.'' You? 
My dear Joseph, you are not yet awake if you say 
that. You know it was I who looked out and saw 
the — the man. I grabbed up the revolver and in a 
moment of distraction — 

RiGGS. See here, Dawes, there 's no sense in 
lying like this. What do you mean, sir, by disput- 
ing me.^ Confound it, sir, I can prove that you are 
lying. There has n't been a revolver in our room in 
five years. So how could you have done any shoot- 
ing.'' James, don't pay any attention to him. I am 
perfectly willing to take the blame and the conse- 
quences for what I have done — for my frightful 
blunder — and I won't permit my old friend to 
shoulder it in my place. 

Dawes. Joseph, I appreciate most deeply the 
motive which impels you to assume — 

Brood. [Breaking in and crossing to them.] You 
are true friends, both of you. I understand and 

[124] 



BROOD HOUSE 



appreciate. But, my old pals, it is n't necessary, I 
alone am responsible. From that window, see.^* 
That's all. I did it. 

RiGGs. But — but you thought he was a burglar! 

Brood. Yes — I shot him for a thief. I — I did 
what any man might have done. 

Dawes. God pity you, James; your own son! 
For God's sake, old man, let me take the blame. It 
won't matter so much if I'm the one. Take back 
what you've said. I am ready to — 

RiGGS. James, I implore you to let me have my 
way in this. Turn me over to the police. It was an 
accident — a terrible mistake — but let the world 
execrate me for committing it — not you. 

Brood. [His hands on their shoulders.] We won't 
even discuss it, my friends. I thank you. You are 
my friends. // the police and the reporters come, I 
shall be the one — the proper one. Now, tell me, 
what — what is the news from down there.? 

Dawes. How — how did you come to do it.? 

Brood. [Hesitating.] I happened to look from 
the window there. Frederic — Frederic walks in 
his sleep. 

RiGGS. He does? That's news to me. 

Dawes. God bless my soul, Joseph, how could 
you know? You were always asleep when he was 

[125] 



BROOD HOUSE 



walking. Don't contradict. I see, James. [Brood's 
eyes drop, and the two old men look at each other 
meaningly. Then they grasp his hands and wring 
them.] 

Brood. But what are they doing down there.? 
Speak! 

RiGGS. That damned doctor is — 

Dawes. Joseph, permit me! He — he also or- 
dered me out, but I did n't lose my temper. The 
doctor is with him, James. The door is locked. 
I — I heard Lydia say that — that — er — you 
ought to be there. There may be time — yet. 

Brood. I cannot do that — no, I — I won't go 
down yet. I — I can't be of any assistance — I — 

RiGGS. You'd probably be in the way. Con- 
founded ignorant quack! 

Dawes. James, I — I never realized how much 
Frederic resembles you until I saw him just now — 

Brood. [Sharply.] Don't! Nonsense! I'm sick 
of hearing that. Don't palaver! Don't lie to me, 
Dawes. There isn't a feature that — There's 
another doctor coming, is n't there? They've sent 
for one.f' Go down at once, my friends, and — and 
tell this new doctor that I want to see him up here, 
just as soon as he comes in. Wait for him at the 
door. You — you can't get Hodder out of there 

[126] 



BROOD HOUSE 



now — but — but I want to see the other one before 
he goes in. Do you hear? Go down at once! Don't 
stop to argue! I'll — I'll wait here! 

[Fairly shoves them out of the room at door R.] 

[Coming down and speaking to the idol.] They all 
suspect. They don't say it, but they all know that 
he was going up to her room and they know that I 
was well aware of it. Gad, I don't wonder that 
they're careful with their words. Huh! They're 
trying to spare my feelings, my pride, my honor, 
even more than they're trying to shield me from 
the odium, the horror that attends the deed. [Re- 
flectively.] She said she would return. She has 
something to say to me. [Laughs bitterly.] Well, 
we're agreed on that. She has something to say to 
me — a great deal to say to me. She expects me to 
drive her out as I did the other one. Well, my 
knowing, inscrutable friend, she may be disap- 
pointed, eh.^ I've changed my mind. We'll find 
another way of punishing her, eh.? We'll let her 
beg and grovel and plead and promise and — 
[catching himself up sharply.] No, she's not the 
kind to beg and grovel. She's made of different 
stuff. Damn her, she'll laugh at me! [Turns 
quickly as he hears a noise in the hall.] 

[127] 



BROOD HOUSE 



[Enter Mrs. Brood at R., strangely calm. She 
comes down unfalteringly, unsmilingly, her eyes 
upon his face, stopping at the head of the table.] 

Mrs. Brood. Now, James, we have come to the 
hour of reckoning. Oh, I'm not afraid of your 
silence any more than I am afraid of your words. 
There is nothing you can say or do. I told you I 
would come back. You did not say you would wait, 
but I see that you have done so. First of all, Frederic 
is expected to die. Dr. Hodder says so. He is a 
great surgeon. He ought to know. But — but he 
does n't know. I sha'n't let him die. 

Brood. One moment, please. We may as well 
be spared the theatrics. It is a condition which we 
have to discuss — and it does not relate wholly to 
the life or death of that poor wretch downstairs. 
It has to do with two people who at this moment 
are vitally alive. We will not include Frederic in 
the hour of reckoning. We — 

Mrs. Brood. [Intently.] You are very much 
mistaken. He is a part of the reckoning. He is 
the one great character in this unhappy, unlooked- 
for climax. Now! Take one long, good look into 
my face and see what you can find there! Look 
closely! I mean it. What is it that has been puz- 

[128] 



BROOD HOUSE 



zling you for months — ever since the night you 
first saw me? Isn't there a vague something that 
takes you back twenty years or more? My eyes, 
my mouth, my hair — yes, my voice? Well! What 
do you see? 

Brood. [Staring hard at her face.] There is 
something that has always puzzled me. 

Mrs. Brood. Have you never petitioned your 
graven friend there to unravel the mystery for you? 
In the quiet of certain lonely, speculative hours have 
you not wondered where you had seen me before — 
long before? In all the years that you have been 
convincing yourself that Frederic is not your son, 
has there not been another face constantly obtrud- 
ing itself into your vision? Well! 

Brood. [Aghast.] Matilde! Good God, Yvonne! 

Mrs. Brood. Yes, Matilde. 

Brood. [Nonplussed.] It cannot be possible — 
you are young. She would be forty-five at least. 
Oh, I — in the devil's name, who are you? Are you 
— are you a ghost? Are you the spirit of — of — 
What trick, what chicanery is this? Has her soul, 
her spirit, her being taken possession of you, to come 
here to curse me? 

Mrs. Brood. [Smiling grimly.] So you do see 
at last I Yes, James Brood, the spirit of Matilde 

[129] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Valeska! Come to curse you! No; to compel you 
to curse yourself! [He glares at her, his jaw hang- 
ing.] But — [suddenly tremulous] — but I did not 
intend that it should come to this. I — I could not 
have dreamed that Fate would take such an advan- 
tage of me, after all these years of waiting and 
planning and praying. 

Brood. Who are you.? What are you.? You — 
you cannot be Matilde! That is preposterous! 
You have her eyes, her voice — 

Mrs. Brood. Matilde in spirit only. Her blood 
is in my veins — her wrongs are in my heart. Sit 
down there and listen to me. The time has come. 
I have failed. God has been against me, and the 
devil has been with you. The devil triumphs! [He 
sits at the left of the table, never taking his eyes from 
her face. She places herself before him, standing to 
his left.] I am Matilde Valeska's sister! 

Brood. Impossible! Good God in heaven! 

Mrs. Brood. And her avenger! Now do you 
begin to see.? Now do you begin to realize what I 
came here to do.? Why I married you.? To serve 
your heart as you served hers. To make you pay! 

Brood. Matilde's sister! 

Mrs. Brood. The little Therese of more than 
twenty years ago. Ah, you remember me — seven- 

[ 130] 



BROOD HOUSE 



year-old Therese. The child who would not speak 
to you, nor kiss you, nor say good-by to you when 
you took her big sister — her beloved sister — away 
from the Bristol in the Kartnerring twenty-three 
years ago. Ah, can I ever forget that wedding 
night? Can I ever forget the sorrow, the loneliness, 
the hatreds that grew in my poor little heart that 
night? Every one was so happy — all but me! I 
was wild with grief! Ah, how I loved her — how I 
loved her! And you took her away from me! You 
stood before the altar in St. Stephen's with her and 
promised — promised — promised! All Vienna, all 
Buda Pesth said that you promised nothing but 
happiness to each other. And so you took her away 
— away across the awful sea — to — to — this ! 
To this house she came, James Brood, twenty-three 
years ago. You brought her here, a happy young 
thing of twenty-two. How did you send her away ? 
How? 

Brood. Stop ! You forget that there was a reason ! 
Mrs. Brood. She died ten years ago. On her 
death bed, into the ears of her priest, into these ears 
of mine, as she gave her pure soul to God, she vowed 
that there was no reason! I believed her — the 
holy priest believed her — God believed her! You 
would have believed her, too, James Brood! She 

[131] 



BROOD HOUSE 



was a good woman. Do you hear? A pure woman. 
And you branded her and drove her out and — per- 
secuted her. You did that to my sister! 

Brood. And yet you married me! 

Mrs. Brood. Not because I loved you. She 
loved you to the day she died — after all you heaped 
upon her — after all! What greater anguish could 
be cast about a mother than to keep her child from 
her."* The boy she bore and loved and yet died with- 
out seeing. Because you denied him to her! You 
said he was not your son. Then why did you keep 
him from her.? She was his mother. You kept him 
with you — guarded and accursed — only to drive 
the barb more deeply into her tortured, innocent 
heart. You let her die, after years of pleading, 
without one glimpse of the child she had brought 
into the world — her child. To punish her you did 
this — to work out the bitter end that your jealousy 
had inspired. That 's what you did to Matilde, my 
sister! For ten long years! Oh, God, how I hated 
you when I married you! 

Brood. I don't believe a word of what you are 
saying. You are building an excuse for your devilish 
conduct — 

Mrs. Brood. Don't you believe that I am her 
sister.'' 

[132] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. You — yes, by heaven, I must believe 
that. Why have I been so blind? You are the 
little Therese — I remember you. You hated me 
then. You — 

Mrs. Brood. That was a child's despairing hate 
because you were taking her away. It did not last. 
When her happy letters came back to us, full of your 
kindness and your devotion, I forgot that you had 
robbed me. I came to look upon you as the fairy 
prince, after all. It was not until she — she herself 
— came all the way across the ocean and began to 
die before our eyes — she was ten years dying — 
not until then that I began to hate you in a different 
way. And, oh, how I came to hate you, James 
Brood! 

Brood. In God's name, why did you marry me.^ 
Why have you taken her place.'' 

Mrs. Brood. To take her son away from you! 

Brood. And I still maintain that he was her son, 
I must say that I don't see how you were robbing 
me. 

Mrs. Brood. You had a good, true wife, who 
never wronged you by thought or deed. You ac- 
cused her of betraying you. It was a lie. You never 
were sure. You suspected. Jealousy did the rest. 
Years after you have another wife — not so good, 

[133] 



BROOD HOUSE 



perhaps, but just as true. Do you hear that? It 
was part of my plan to be absolutely true. Well, 
you — you loved me. I know that. What could be 
more fitting than that the son you despised should 
steal away from you — In the days when you are 
trying to forget — steal away the woman in whom 
you had found forgetfulness? The son you had 
guarded so well — the son you disowned! Now, do 
you see.^ 

Brood. Goon! I still need to be convinced. 

Mrs. Brood. [Looking at him for a moment and 
then sitting down near him.] I think I '11 tell you my 
story from the beginning. When my sister came 
home, cast out and degraded, I was but nine years of 
age, but old enough to know that a dreadful thing 
had happened. My father wanted to come to 
America to kill you. He did come later on, but you 
had gone to Africa. I could see by their actions 
that you had done her a grave wrong. At first I 
could not understand. She had loved you so. At 
last she told me that you would not let her have her 
baby boy. After that, my father and my uncles 
made every effort to get the boy away from you — 
but he was hidden — how carefully you know your- 
self. For ten years they were looking for him. For 
ten years she never ceased writing to you to let her 

[134] 



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have him — if only for a little while at a time. You 
never answered. You scorned her. Then my father 
died. Matilde and I were living at the old house in 
Buda Pesth. We were rich, but all of our money 
could not find a way to get that boy away from you. 
At last she told me what it was that you accused her 
of. She told me about Guido Vanani, the music 
master. I can't go into that. He was nothing to 
her but a music master, James Brood. He came 
casually into her life and as carelessly passed out 
of it. 

Brood. Yes — I pitched him out of a door 
downstairs. 

Mrs. Brood. And he challenged you! Why did 
you not fight him? 

Brood. Because she implored me not to kill him. 
Did she tell you that? 

Mrs. Brood. Yes. But you were not usually so 
considerate at that time. It's strange that you 
could oblige her in that one instance and in no other. 
No. It was because you were not sure of yourself. 

Brood. I deny that! 

Mrs. Brood. Never mind. It is enough that 
Vanani went out of her life. Now, hear me. You 
did an injustice to a most honorable gentleman — 
a noble gentleman. His one letter to her after the 

[135] 



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scene with you, I have here In this packet! [Drazvs 
a packet from her bosom.] But one letter from him! 
I have brought it here for you to read. But later on. 
There are other things here for you to read, James 
Brood. They are from the grave! After Frederic 
was born, you drove her away! We — we won't go 
into that. She told me about it — Oh, God, how 
horrible that must have been! A jealous madman 
against a weak, terrified woman! 

Brood. You — you need not go into that. Don't, 
I command you! I will suffer you to speak of your- 
self and of the present, but not of — of that other 
time. 

Mrs. Brood. Well, you accused her and drove 
her out. My sister — one of a noble family, of a 
family of great, good men and women. It was 
winter — oh, how I freeze when I think of it! You 
kept the child. You gave him your name. You had 
him brought up in total ignorance of his mother until 
such a time as you could present her before him in 
terms of scorn and obloquy. All this she could not 
but feel and know. You kept him with you only to 
inflict her with all the pain you could devise. You 
cannot deny this, you dare not deny it. Well, she 
waited and hoped and pleaded, as I said before. 
You gave no sign. You let her die w u.out a glimpse 

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of her boy — without a word or a sign from him. 
You let her die under a cloud, a lonely, miserable, 
crushed woman who might have been sixty instead 
of thirty-five — the once glorious, beautiful, viva- 
cious Matilde Valeska. Ah, I do not wonder that 
you shrink and draw back from me. 

Brood. Now I can see why you have taken up 
this fight against me. You have hated me well. 

Mrs. Brood. Hated you, James Brood, and — 
yes, loved you! 

Brood. Loved me! I thought it was love, but — 

Mrs. Brood. In spite of myself! Yes, I have 
seen hours in which my hatred slipped out somehow 
and gave way to love. But it was not I who loved 
— it was I who hated. It was the spirit of Matilde 
that crept into me and drove out the hatred of 
Therese. She loved you to the end. She never 
hated you. That was it. It was the undying, im- 
ploring love of Matilde that fought and overcame 
the hatred of Therese. I believe as firmly as I be- 
lieve that I am alive that Matilde's love has at times 
been greater than my hatred — I believe that she 
has been near me in spirit all these years, battling 
against my desire for vengeance. You cannot un- 
derstand that, James Brood, because you do not 
believe in the transmigration of the soul. You do 

[137] 



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not believe we have souls. And yet there have been 
times when I actually felt that I was Matilde; 
when I really experienced an unmistakable, amaz- 
ing feeling of love for you. It must have been the 
influence from that strange, mysterious world in 
which the dead people live. Those were the times 
when you were unconsciously yet vividly reminded 
of Matilde Valeska. And all this time, in spite of 
your cruelty to her, I have felt that you loved her, 
not me. 

Brood. [Slozvly.] You are the most wondrous 
woman I have ever known. I have thought of you 
as Matilde a hundred times when I've held you in 
my arms. 

Mrs. Brood. And so it was that I, Therese, found 
out that you had a heart and could love. You must 
have loved her. 

Brood. I did. I worshiped her. 

Mrs. Brood. It was years after her death that I 
met you — in Paris. Again in Vienna. Again in 
Buda Pesth. Why did you go to Vienna and Buda 
Pesth-f* Because you were driven by remorse. I 
knew that you visited her tomb in disguise and on 
the darkest of nights. I knew that before you mar- 
ried me you made a tardy effort to find Vanani. 
You found his grave. And so you could not ask 

[138] 



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him, man to man, on the honor of men, If you had 
wronged her. Somehow you felt that he would tell 
you that you had, and you wanted to hear him say 
it. After that, you turned to me. The spell was upon 
you. I had found you and you were in the web. 
There was no escape. I was no longer the Therese 
of long ago, but Yvonne Drodga, your nemesis. 
I'll not speak of the brief court you paid to me in 
Paris. It is fresh in your memory. But you will 
never know how I prayed that you might not get 
away from me. You'll never know how I rejoiced 
when we were married, but not in the way that most 
brides rejoice. No! It was the joy of having you 
where I wanted you ! Where I could strike the surest 
and the deepest. You — you were going to take 
me to my sister's son. And I — your wife — was 
going there to take him away from you. To take 
him in the way that would hurt you more than any 
other way that woman or Satan could devise. So! 

Brood. [Watching her intently as she pauses for 
breath.] And the cards fell out badly after all. 
Fate turned the trick. You took him to his death. 
Are you satisfied.'' 

Mrs. Brood. You don't feel the blow, even as 
it is.? 

Brood. I am beginning to feel sorry for you. By 
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heaven, Yvonne, your plan deserved a better fate 
than this. 

Mrs. Brood. Have — have you no pain, no 
grief in knowing that you have killed your own son.? 

Brood. [Starting up — realizing.] Good God, if 
he should be my — my son ! 

Mrs. Brood. He is! I swear it before God! He 
could be no other man's son. I have her dying word 
for that. She said it in the presence of her God, 
and God, who knows, spoke to us through her! He 
is your son! Wait! Not yet! You've got to hear 
me to the end! Then you can go to him. 

Brood. [Hoarsely.] If this is true — if this is true ! 

Mrs. Brood. Here! Take this packet of letters! 
Read them as you sit there beside his death bed. 
No! Not that! He must not die — he shall not! I 
did not mean that. I — I only wanted to take him 
away from you — not to have him killed like this. 
[Chokingly.] There are her letters — The letter of 
Vanani — her death-bed letter to you. Oh, you will 
cringe when you read that! And a letter to your 
son and hers! Read that to him! If you can! 

Brood. [Standing over her bent figure,] Why 
should you, even in your longing for revenge, have 
planned to damn and disgrace him even more than 
I could have done.'' Was it just to your sister's son 

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that you should drag him into a sin even worse than 
I had committed? You were making a scoundrel 
of him — not a man! You were damning his soul 
forever! 

Mrs. Brood. No! I did not love him in that 
way. 

Brood. And yet you were — 

Mrs. Brood. Wait! Perhaps you have a right 
to think that of me. I am years older than he. I 
loved him as his mother would have loved him. He 
would not have been degraded. My vengeance would 
not have been worth while if I could not have left 
you to believe that he had stolen your wife away 
from you — the wife you loved — if I could not 
have made you feel that God had cursed you in His 
most ingenious way. No! lie would have been 
safe. He was only fascinated — as I intended. He 
was going away with me — going to the old home 
across the sea — the home he had not seen — to 
get away from you, the father who hated him. We 
were going to-morrow — on the fastest ship that 
sails. When we were on the ocean I should have 
explained. I should have told him everything. 
He would not have gone, I truly believe, if you had 
not told him to-night that you are not his father. 
That decided him. He thought he loved me. He 



BROOD HOUSE 



did not love you. You had killed all of that in him. 
So he was going away with me. After I had told him 
everything, don't you know that he would have 
respected and forgiven the sister of his mother? 
No, James Brood, he would have understood, and 
he would have gloried in what I had done. The 
blind would have fallen from his eyes and he would 
have realized that it was not love that he had felt 
for me. The spell would be over. He would be safe. 

Brood. But, answer me this, Yvonne: why was 
he going to your room to-night.'' Going in the 
manner he did? 

Mrs. Brood. He was going in that manner be- 
cause Fate, my enemy, had ruled that he should 
play into your hand, after all. That was the fatal 
move. He was coming there to get my jewels and 
this roll of bills — seel They are hundred-dollar 
bills! My own money, James Brood! For I would 
not have made that kind of a thief of him. Money 
that I brought with me from my own home! Crowns 
that I have changed into bills! He was to take 
passage for us in the morning — brother and sister! 
[She has taken another -package from her dress.] 

Brood. Brother and sister? 

Mrs. Brood. And then, after I had taken him 
away from you, do you know what my next step 

[142] 



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was to have been? After he was in Vienna and pin- 
ing away for some one he had left behind? 

Brood. Not — not for me? {Hopefully). 

Mrs. Brood. Don't flatter yourself. No. For 
Lydia Desmond. He was to write for her to come 
to him. All this I had thought out, oh, so beauti- 
fully. He loves her — not me. Time would have 
told that to him. He has loved her all along. And 
she would have come to him. She would have 
come after his letter, believe me ! Then, ah, then 
we should have been a happy family in — in dear 
old Vienna! We three! They would not have 
turned me out! 

Brood. A happy family! God, I — I am begin- 
ning to realize! A happy family — and I left out 
— I left out! I, the hated and despised! Oh, Yvonne, 
you — you would have given me more misery than 
either of us could have dreamed of. 

Mrs. Brood. But how has it turned out? Am 
I any happier for what I have done? What have I 
accomplished? What have I wrought? My purpose 
was weakened. I faltered. I weakened under the 
love she bore for you — I permitted it to creep in 
and fill my heart — my bitter heart! Do you un- 
derstand? God, I have failed! I have lost after all 
these years! Is there triumph for me in the knowl- 

[143] 



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edge that you have shot your own son? Is there 
glory in it for me to know that he may die believing 
me to be a bad woman — that he lost his life for a 
woman whom he expected to make his mistress? 
Believing me to be a faithless wife — oh, James 
Brood, I have failed! 

Brood. You have lost — everything, Yvonne! 

Mrs. Brood. [Slowly arising — comprehending.] 
I suppose I shall have to go. You will turn me out. 

Brood. I — I cannot ask you to stay. 

Mrs. Brood. But he is not — yet — dead. 

Brood. [Suddenly distracted.] God, he may be! 
He may be now. And I have killed him. 

Mrs. Brood. Ah, at last you see — you know! 
I can see into your heart — into your brain, James 
Brood! You knozv he is your boy! You know my 
sister was as pure as snow! Ah, that is something — 
that is something 

Brood. [Hastily.] They've all said he looks 
like me — I have seen it at times — I have always 
felt it. I purposely fought against it — unreason- 
ably, madly, cruelly. Now it is too late and I see! 
I see, I feel! Damn you! You have driven me to 
kill my own son! 

Mrs. Brood. Yes! After you had struck a blow 
that was worse than death! After you had cursed 

I 144] 



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him and wrecked his soul! You say I must go. 
You mean to drive me out. Very well. I do not 
forget that I was going — to-morrow. But let me 
say this to you: I shall not leave this house until 
he is lying stiff and cold in death or so far recovered 
as to listen to my side of the story. One or the 
other! I will not go! I shall stay here, in this 
house, either to nurse him back to life or to sit with 
you beside his casket — a mourner. Now, you may 
go to him! 

[Enter Dr. H odder at R., hastily. He is ner- 
vous and in his shirt sleeves, his sleeves rolled up.] 

HoDDER. Well, are we to notify the police.? 

Brood. [Starting toward him — hoarsely.] Is — 
is he dead.? 

HoDDER. No. Hang it all, sir, you have called 
in another doctor and a priest. I don't see why 
the devil you have n't sent for the police and an 
undertaker. 

Mrs. Brood. Is he conscious.? Does he know.? 

Brood. For God*s sake, Hodder, is there any 
chance? 

Hodder. To be perfectly frank with you, Mr. 
Brood, I don't believe there is. It went in here. 
[Pointing just above the heart.] It came out here. 

[145] 



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[Indicating his back.] He's not conscious. He was. 
He asked for Miss Desmond. Mr. Brood, he does 
not know who it was that shot him. It may soften 
the pain for you to feel that he'll never know. But 
that's neither here nor there. Are the police to be 
sent for now — or — or afterwards ^ 

Brood. [Looking at Mrs. Brood intently.] We'll 
wait, Dr. Hodder. 

HoDDER. [After a -paused Do you care to see him.'' 

Brood. [In anguish.] See him! Yes! Yes! 
[Going up as Mrs. Brood grasps his arm and checks 
him. Hodder is in the door]. 

Mrs. Brood. [Softly, meaningly.] Don't forget 
that he hates you, James Brood. Don't let him see 
you now! It won't — help — him — any! I think 
he'd much rather see me — than you ! 

[He breaks away, with a look of despair, and 

rushes off after Dr. Hodder. Mrs. Brood stands 

like a statue for a moment and then slowly begins 

to tell the beads which she takes from the pocket of 

her dressing-gown.] 



CURTAIN 

[End of Act III.] 
[146] 



BROOD HOUSE 



ACT FOURTH 

Six weeks later. Time: Ten o'clock in the morning of 
a May day. The stage is set to represent the little 
garden in rear of Brood's home. The right side 
of the setting represents the inner facade of the 
main part of the residence, with windows and a 
wide door and landing from which three steps lead 
down to the level of the little grassy court. The 
rear of the stage shows a high brick wall, with a 
small gate which opens into the alley, near upper 
L., on the opposite side of which stands the stable 
and garage. Vines cling to this wall and there are 
such signs of springtime gardening in evidence as 
a reel of hose, spades and rakes. On the left-hand 
side of the stage is the vine-covered balcony which 
Frederic had tried to ascend, with the French 
window of Mrs. Brood's room above. There are 
Italian benches at right and left and a small 
fountain in the middle of the stage. There are 
some bushes ready to be planted standing against 
the brick wall up stage. Near the little gate is a 
pile of hand luggage, with steamer rugs, coats, etc. 
[ H7 ] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Enter Ranjab, door at R., followed by Parker, 
the manservant, both of them carrying bags and 
rugs, which they add to the pile near the gate. The 
manservant returns to the house, while Ranjab, 
remaining near the pile, consults a small slip of 
paper, evidently a list, checking off the pieces 
which have been carried out. He is dressed in an 
ordinary sack suit of black, and is hatless. There 
are gold wristbands on his wrists, as there have 
been throughout the entire play. 

Enter Joseph Riggs and Danbury Dawes, door 
R., both in brand new blue serge suits, white shoes 
and blue caps. Each wears a bright blue ribbon on 
the lapel of his coat, and on the visor band of the 
caps is the name ^^ Maisie.''^ Each carries over his 
arm a checked English ulster. Riggs has in his 
hand a hot-water bottle wrapped in a towel, while 
Dawes has toothbrush, flesh-brush, tooth powder 
box, and razor strop in his hand. They cross 
over to Ranjab. 

Riggs. Ranjab, will you look up that little brown 
bag of mine and put this water bottle in it for me? 
I forgot it when packing, 

Dawes. And get my bag out of that pile, too. I 
ame within an ace of forgetting my toothbrush and 
[ 148 ] 



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razor strop. Do you know, Joseph, I'm always for- 
getting my toothbrush. 

RiGGS. Well, are you sure you have n't left your 
teeth.? Last time we went away you forgot them. 
And, say, what do you always carry a razor strop 
for.'' You have n't shaved in twenty-five years. 

Dawes. [Jt a loss for a moment.] But suppose I 'd 
take a sudden notion to shave off my beard? Ha, 
you never thought of that, did you.? Of course not. 
Besides, what would you do if I did n't take my 
strop along.? You 've used it for twenty years. 
You 've got my razors in your bag now. 

RiGGS. Oh, I can buy a strop if necessary. Don't 
throw that up to me. And, that reminds me, I 
did n't put your razors into my bag. I forgot 'em, 
clean. They 're on the window-sill in the bathroom, 
Dawes. You 'd better get 'em. Damned silly thing 
to be taking your strop along and leaving your razors 
behind. I packed the mug and brush for you. 
You 'd have forgotten them if it had n't been 
for me. 

Dawes. I'm not sure that we have time to get 
'em now. How soon do we leave for the yacht, 
Ranjab.? 

Ranjab. [fFho has found the bags and placed 
them on a bench.] In half an hour, sir. The trunks 

[149] 



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went aboard an hour ago. Mr. and Mrs. Gunning 
will be here at 10.30. 

RiGGS. [Putting his hot-water bottle into the bag.] 
There 's no danger of missing the boat.-* 

Dawes. [Putting in his articles.] How can there 
he? It belongs to Gunning and it won't sail until 
he 's aboard. You '11 have plenty of time to get the 
razors. I say, it 's a bit coolish out here. I think 
I '11 put my coat on. These early spring days are 
deceptive. Give me a lift, Joseph. 

RiGGS. [Holding Dawes'' coat.] If it 's too cold 
for you, why don't you go into the house.? By 
George, that is a nobby coat, old man. I 've never 
seen it on you out of doors. Looks much better 
than it does in the house. Would you mind holding 
mine? It is a bit chilly. 

Dawes. [Holds Riggs'' coat.] The fresh air feels 
good. I feel like a boy, Joseph. Do you know 
it 's more than ten years since we 've — er — had 
holiday like this.? That is a nice coat. 

Riggs. [Looking up at the house, R.] I was be- 
ginning to get a bit seedy. The sea voyage will do 
me a world of good. I 've had a vague idea that I 'd 
be seasick, just to celebrate the occasion. Do you 
suppose they '11 remember us at Monte Carlo.? 

Dawes. Remember us.? My dear fellow, why 
[150] 



BROOD HOUSE 



should they have shorter memories than we? 'Gad, 
I haven't forgotten Monte Carlo. [They look at 
their zvatch.es simultaneously — each surreptitiously 
glancing over at the other's,] I declare I 've let mine 
run down. 

RiGGS. Ahem, mine 's stopped. How aggrava- 
ting. [Impulsively.] Danbury, old man, do you 
know I have n't wound the damned thing in six 
years .^ 

Dawes. [Relieved.] The same here. It shows 
how careless one grows if — er — he isn't careful. 
This is the first time I 've really wanted to know 
what time it is in six years or more. 

RiGGS. I guess we 're a bit behind the times, 
Comrade. We 're back numbers. [They sit down 
upon the bench at left center., very soberly.] We 're not 
just exactly what we used to be. 

Dawes. There 's no denying that, Joseph. We're 
old fogies. The idea of not winding a watch in six 
years! 

RiGGS. This is the first new suit of clothes I 've 
had in five years. Used to have a new suit every 
month or so. Let 's see, Danbury, how old are you.^* 

Dawes. I was just about to ask that of you. 

RiGGS. I'd rather you wouldn't ask such con- 
founded impertinent questions. It's none of your 

[151] 



m. ♦ 



BROOD HOUSE 



business. Say, it's warmer than I thought. [Takes 
off his coat, Dawes doing the same.] They fold them 
carefully and lay them across their knees.] I have n't 
had a drink since yesterday. [Fingers his blue 
ribbon.] 

Dawes. [Looks at his own.] I know it. You 
don't need to tell me. I had it with you. I think 
it's a low-down trick of Jim Brood to compel us — 
absolutely to bully us — into swearing off — er — 
take the pledge as you might say — for all of this 
trip. Sometimes I wonder whether it is worth it. 

RiGGS. They might have left the women at 
home. 

Dawes. The women! There's where the joke 
comes in. Confound 'em, the women may drink as 
much as they please on the cruise — and the crew, 
too, for that matter — but we — you and I — are 
obliged to give up everything. Jim Brood says 
we'll like it after we get used to it. He says it's a 
fine thing to be sober. Just as if I never had been! 

RiGGS. What's the fun in a cruise if the grog's 
cut off.^ [Looks up at Ranjab, and then cautiously 
into Dawes^ ear.] Do you know what I'm going to 
do when I reach the Riviera.? 

Dawes. Yes. 

RiGGS. How the devil do you know.? 
[152] 



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Dawes. You 're going ashore and get boiling drunk. 

RiGGS. Do I talk in my sleep .^ [Placing his hand 
on his brow.] 

Dawes. No. It's spiritual telepathy. I daresay 
Jim's right. It would n't do to let you have liquor 
on the boat. You do get awfully tight, Joseph. 

RiGGS. Tight.? Why, you damned scoundrel, I 
defy you to prove it. 

Dawes. The night Frederic was wounded you 
were so drunk that the doctors worked over you for 
half an hour, thinking you had taken poison. You 
were a terrible nuisance. 

RiGGS. How many times have I told you that 
Dr. Hodder said it was my heart .f* Over-exerted 
myself, carrying you to bed. That's what I did! 
Say, aren't you listening.? That's it! You never 
pay any attention when I try to explain. That's 
why you don't know. That's why I have to repeat 
it over and over again. That's — 

Dawes. The only thing you repeat is the drunk. 
[They turn their backs upon one another — insulted.] 

[Ranjab comes down, without instructions, and 
coolly takes up one overcoat and then the other and 
holds it for the owner, who mechanically slips it 
on and resumes his seat.] 

[153] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Dawes. [Reflectively.] Dear old Monte Carlo! 
We'll soon be there. Right time of the year — May. 

RiGGS. A little late, old chap. April is best. 

Dawes. You're right. We should have started 
earlier. 

RiGGS. Was n't safe to take Frederic away short 
of six weeks after the accident. Sea trip will do him 
a world of good. 

Dawes. I'll never forget the brown-haired girl 
I met at Monte Carlo. By George, she was splendid. 
She — 

RiGGS. You met her in Alexandria. It was I who 
met a blonde at Monte Carlo. 

Dawes. Perhaps you're right, Joseph. I may be 
confused as to the locality, but not as to the girls. 
Ah, me! Those were gay days, eh? 'Gad, it makes 
me feel thirty years younger to think of 'em. 

RiGGS. I wonder if she's still there.? I feel that 
much younger myself. 

Dawes. I would n't like to chance her being 
thirty years younger, my dear boy. Women can't 
live down things as men do, you know. Thirty 
years is a long time to a woman. 

[Enter Lydia, door at R., attired in a gray 
traveling dress, hat to match, etc. She has a small 
[154] 



BROOD HOUSE 



red leather jewel case which she proceeds to place 
in a small hag after Ranjab has found it in the 
pile.] 

Lydia. One always forgets something. Thank 
you, Ranjab. I am really not accountable, though. 
I'm so excited. Mr. Brood wants the motor at the 
gate in twenty minutes, Ranjab. Tell Andrew. 
The bags are all ready to go.^ Splendid. Mr. 
Frederic refuses to have the car brought to the 
front of the house. He insists upon leaving by the 
back gate and — the alley! Think of it! The alley! 
Poor boy, he is so white and so weak, he's afraid 
people will stare at him if he goes out by the front 
door. But, oh, Ranjab, he will be well and strong 
in a month. Dr. Hodder says so. [Involuntarily 
looks at the vines and the balcony at left and shakes her 
head.] I cannot look at that place without shud- 
dering. 

Dawes. [Ruminating., not having seen Lydia. By 
George, she was a pretty girl. [Riggs still is thinking.] 

Lydia. [Coming down.] Oh, here you are all 
tiked out in your new clothes. Stand up and let me 
see. [They start in surprise and then both stand up 
quickly for inspection.] Goodness, you're like two 
college boys. 

[155] 



BROOD HOUSE 



RiGGS. I think there's one of these shoes a little 
tight, but I'm not sure which one. You see, both of 
my feet are numb. 

Lydia. Perhaps they're both tight, you poor 
dear. 

Dawes. Pardon me, Lydia, did you say they or 
you.'' 

Lydia. Isn't it a perfectly gorgeous day.^ To- 
night we'll be out to sea! Think of it! I've never 
been east of Coney Island, Mr. Riggs. Think of it! 

RiGGS. I've never been west of the Hudson 
River. 

Lydia. Oh, nonsense! You've been all over the 
world. 

Riggs. I've been in Asia and Africa and Borneo 
and South America and — Iceland, but I've never 
been to Jersey City. 

Dawes. How's Frederic feeling, Lydia? He's 
all right, eh.'' We sha'n't have to postpone sailing. 
'Pon my word, I'm rather anxious to start, now that 
I've started. 

Lydia. He's ever so much better, and he's per- 
fectly wild about going. For a year and a half! 
Just think of it! Cruising and sight seeing and 
being happy for a year and a half. I know I shall 
wake up and — [shakes her head]. 

[156] 



BROOD HOUSE 



RiGGS. Well, six weeks ago I would n't 
have given two cents for his chances. Wonder- 
ful constitution. 

Lydia. I knew that he'd get well. I never 
doubted. 

Dawes. That's what I said. 

RiGGS. You.'' Why, Dawes, you dressed for the 
funeral. 

[Enter Dr. H odder R.^ nervously, peering about 
through his glasses.] 

HoDDER. Ah, here you are, Miss Desmond. 
Mrs. Gunning has just telephoned to say that they 
are starting at once In their motor and will be here 
in fifteen minutes — barring fatalities. You and I 
are to go with them to the dock. I believe you 
gentlemen are to go over in a cab. 

RiGGS. [Indignantly.] Don't we go In a motor .f* 

HoDDER. I think not. Don't want to crowd 
Frederic in Mr. Brood's car, you see. 

Dawes. I've half a notion not to go, at all. A 
cab! 

RiGGS. [Plaintively.] Doctor, I 've — I've never 
ridden in an automobile. 

HoDDER. You don't mean It! Ranjab! Tele- 
phone for a taxicab! 

[157] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Ranjab. [Smiling as he goes up R.\ Very- 
good, sir. 

Dawes. Say, Ranjab! Have it come to the back 
gate, here. Not in front! No taxicab at the front 
door for me. 

[Exit Ranjab R. Riggs and Dawes look at their 
watches, and then at each other, and then go up to 
the alley gate, which they open and go through 
considerable pantomimic conversation respecting 
the proposed position of the two motors, taking of 
their overcoats finally and sitting down, at odds, 
upon two bags.] 

HoDDER. Well, Miss Lydia, we'll soon be off. A 
life on the ocean wave! 

Lydia. It's so good of the Gunnings to do this for 
us. Dr. Hodder. 

HoDDER. My dear young lady. Gunning is always 
doing the right thing, only he seldom knows it. This 
cruise is nothing to him. Five months to a man 
with five millions! What's he got a yacht for if not 
to take people about in it.^ Now five months is 
quite a different matter with me. I am a working 
man. I'm afraid my clients can't wait till I return. 
Five months is a long time to a fellow who wants 

[158] 



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his stomach scraped or his brain remodeled. He's 
usually in a hurry about it. And then, just think 
how the tonsils and adenoids will thrive while I am 
away. With no one to tell the patients they've got 
'em! Dear me, it's quite criminal on my part. 

Lydia. Can't you cut them out at reduced rates 
when you return.'' 

HoDDER. Sort of bargain lots in tonsils and 
adenoids, eh.^ I suppose I'll have to. 

Lydia. Besides, Frederic is your most important 
patient just now. He's the one who needs you 
most. That's why you are going with us to the 
Mediterranean, sacrificing every one else. 

HoDDER. By Jove, it will be glorious! We'll 
have him as well as ever by the time we pass Gibral- 
tar, my word for it. He's gaining like a whirlwind 
these days. I — I would n't have believed it. 
Something like a miracle, 'pon my word. 

Lydia. He has had wonderful care. 

HoDDER. The nursing did it — that and his 
desperate desire to get well. Doctors can't help a 
fellow unless he wants to help himself. I — I really 
think he owes his life — instead of his death — to 
his father. That man is the most changed of any 
human being I've ever known. He has turned from 
flint to eiderdown before our very eyes. I have a 

[159] 



BROOD HOUSE 



vague notion that James Brood prays now and 
then. You never thought of his doing that two 
months ago, did you? 

Lydia. I think we've all learned how to pray, Dr. 
Hodder. 

HoDDER. [Cautiously.] Even to Mrs. Brood. 

Lydia. I shall never forget that awful night when 
she followed Mr. Brood into — into the room where 
Frederic was dying. Even you, Dr. Hodder, said 
that he was breathing his last. Can you ever forget 
how she stood over Frederic and lifted her hands 
towards God — with never a word — just looking 
up — up — up! As I believe in my soul. Dr. Hodder, 
so sure am I that God listened to her mute appeal 
and to no other. When she at last looked down into 
Frederic's gray, still face, I — I myself — saw him 
open his eyes and look into hers. From that instant 
he began life anew. It was as if he were born 
again. 

Hodder. I saw. I knew. It was n't science. I 
have tried to name it in my notes, Miss Lydia. I've 
called it a psychic miracle. 

Lydia. Afterwards she came to me, out in the 
hall, and put her arm about me. I — I had never 
liked her before that. But there was something in 
her touch — in her voice — which changed me then. 

[i6o] 



BROOD HOUSE 



She was another person, Dr. Hodder. Absolutely 
another entity. Her voice was that of another's — 
a stranger's — her hand was loving and gentle and 
true. Her eyes were — they were as blue as sap- 
phire, Dr. Hodder. Do you — do you think I 
Imagined it.^ I have never gotten over it. In a little 
while — after that strange, sweet voice had bid me to 
hope, that Frederic would live for me — after that, 
she slowly seemed to return to the woman I had 
known and hated — to Mrs. Brood herself. She 
made me sit down beside her in the drawing room 
while she smoked a cigarette. She even hummed an 
air — you know the tune. But, Dr. Hodder, I've 
never had the slightest desire to hate her since that 
night. We are — yes, I love her and I am sure she 
loves me. 

Hodder. She is a wonder-worker — a phenom- 
enon that I can't undertake to describe. I see her 
here every day. She is as she was before the — er — 
the accident. Gay, impulsive, clever, and all that, 
but still there is a subtle distinction. The only 
being she seems to stand in awe of is — her husband. 
She's perfectly lawless, so far as I'm concerned. 

Lydia. Dr. Hodder, I sometimes feel that Mr. 
Brood stands — yes, in awe of her. 

Hodder. Really? 

[i6i] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Lydia. He avoids her. 

HoDDER. I — I'd not noticed that, Miss 
Desmond. 

Lydia. They seldom meet except — except when 
Frederic is present — ever since that night, 

HoDDER. Why, they appear to be — most 
friendly. 

Lydia. But they — they seem to be afraid of 
each other. Perhaps I imagine it. Dr. Hodder. 

HoDDER. I daresay you do, Miss Desmond. I 
must confess, however, that I don't understand why 
Mrs. Brood is not — er — going on this cruise with 
us. She's been Freddie's most devoted nurse — 
devotion itself. He — he leans on her quite as much 
as he does upon Brood — or you. Miss Desmond. 
It's rather odd, I'd say. 

Lydia. She is n't going. I've never asked why. 

HoDDER. No.^ I should think she'd want to be 
present when you and Freddie are married. Very 
strange. 

Lydia. The only thing she's said about it, is 
that her wedding present will be delivered to us in 
Vienna the day we're married in St. Stephen's. 
Dr. Hodder, have you noticed of late how much 
Frederic Is getting to look like his father .f* 

HoDDER. I've always noticed that. No question 
[162] 



BROOD HOUSE 



as to who his father is. I've noticed something else, 
however. I did n't know his mother, of course — 
before my time — but I'll bet my soul he's got her 
personality. I notice it more and more as I see him. 
It's a good thing for a boy to have a generous touch 
of his mother in him. Catch what I mean.? He 
looks like Brood, but inside he's his mother to the 
core, or I miss my guess completely. 

Lydia. [Slowly.] 1 wonder if — oh, it could n't 
be that. 

HoDDER. I know what you are thinking. Who 
knows? It may explain that strange new breath of 
life. Doctors don't believe much in souls, Miss 
Desmond. But I sometimes wonder — yes, I do, 
'pon my word. 

Lydia. If his mother's soul was near — that 
night. [She goes over to the vines at L. and looks down 
at the ground — involuntarily glancing up to the third 
story window, R.\ 

HoDDER. [Quietly.] Miss Desmond, the shock 
of that night has accomplished one thing for your 
husband-to-be — something, too, for your peace of 
mind. 

Lydia. What's that. Dr. Hodder? 
HoDDER. [Seriously.] He will never walk in his 
sleep again. [She turns away in consternation.] 

[163] 



BROOD HOUSE 



RiGGS. [Arising suddenly and going toward R.\ 
Here comes Frederic. Ah, we'll soon be off now. 
[Dawes follows him across and both wave their caps 
boyishly. Lydia and Hodder go up quickly.] 

[Enter Ranjab at door R., followed by a sedate 
trained nurse, who is dressed for the street. She 
turns and waits for the invalid'' s chair in which 
Frederic is wheeled on by James Brood. The 
chair is halted at the top of the steps. Frederic 
is dressed very warmly, but is not covered by 
blankets. He carries a cane in his hand. Brood 
is dressed quietly for the voyage. Frederic'' s face 
is white and thin and his clothes hang loosely 
upon his frame.] 

Hodder. The captain of the Pinafore! 

Frederic. Well, this is spring, is n't it.'' [Starts 
to get out of chair.] 

Hodder. I would rt't do that. Take your time. 
You may stand on your legs down here, but you 
must not walk down those steps. [He and Ranjab 
lift the chair down the steps, Riggs and Dawes fussing 
about in vain effort to help.] 

Dawes. [Assuming command.] Gently, now! Get 
out of the way, Riggs! Confound you, sir, do you 

[164] 



BROOD HOUSE 



wish to be run down by the chair? Here! Fetch it 
right here, James! There! No — right here! We'll 
get the sun ht;re if — er — that is, as soon as it gets 
around to this side of the house. What 's that, 
Riggs? 

RiGGS. The sun won't be back there till to-morrow 
morning. 

Dawes. There you stand — taking up what little 
sun there is. Move over! Here! Right here, James. 
Ah, that's better. How are you, Frederic? 

Frederic. [J¥ho has been wheeled to R. C] Like 
a fighting cock, Mr. Dawes. By Jove, you look like 
a sixteen-year-old boy. You should wear blue all 
the time — and a cap. [He takes Lydia's hand and 
kisses it.] 

Riggs. He should wear a blue ribbon all the 
time. 

Brood. I see you still wear them — good! Think 
of the example you are setting. All right, Frederic? 
Frederic. Perfect. I'll stand on my pins for a 
minute or two. I say, Lydia, I'm doing pretty well, 
eh? A little wobbly yet, but — oh, they'll soon be 
good for a cross-country run. [The nurse and Dr. 
Hodder support him as he stands up beside the chair, 
leaning on his cane.] I tell you they're pretty 
flimsy, eh? 

[165] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Lydia. Be careful, Frederic. This is only the 
third day you have tried it. Don't try to do too 
much. 

Frederic. I've got to have 'em in good working 
order by the time we go marching down the aisle, 
little girl. Can't wobble any there. I need prac- 
tice, that's all. How soon do we start, dad .'' Every- 
thing ready .^ Got my bags all out, Ranjab.'' The 
automobile,^ 

Ranjab. It will be here in a few minutes, Mr. 
Frederic. 

Frederic. In the alley, you know. No parade 
for me. I say, give me an arm, dad. Let's see if I 
can't walk out there to the garage. I — 

HoDDER. You stay right here, young man. You're 
a patient yet, not a free agent. Sit down! Not too 
much at a time. {Frederic laughs and shakes his head, 
taking a few steps forward, leaning on Lydia.] 

[Enter Mrs. Brood at R., attired in a quiet 
house gown, hatless. She stands for a moment at 
the top of the steps, smiling at him.] 

Frederic. Hello, Yvonne! How's this? I'm 
coming on, eh.^ God, it feels good to be out here in 
the air. Come down and — and feel my arm. 

[i66] 



BROOD HOUSE 



More muscle than yesterday. How's that Lydia? 
[Lydia smiles as she feels his biceps.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Coming down to his side.] Has Dr. 
Hodder given you permission to be on your feet so 
much? Isn't he too weak yet, Doctor.? [Frederic 
puts his arm on her shoulder.] 

HoDDER. Mustn't overdo it, that's all. Now sit 
down. Here, Miss Oliver — push the chair up. 
There! [As Frederic sits down.] 

[A hand-organ begins to play in the distance.] 

Frederic. Say! Listen! Hear that? That's 
spring sure enough. How I love the hurdy-gurdy! 
Go out and fetch it to the gate there, Ranjab. 

Mrs. Brood. I think it sounds better at a dis- 
tance, Frederic. They squeak so when you're too 
close. It's like the newsboy shouting "extra." 
You know it's an extra when he's a block away, 
but you don't know what it is when he's close beside 
you. Distance lends enchantment to the extra. 
[To Brood.] Is everything ready, James? 

Brood. [Who has been watching her closely from 
behind Frederic's chair.] Everything, Yvonne. We're 
only waiting for the Gunnings. 

RiGGS. Get that taxicab, Ranjab? [He and 
Dawes go up with Ranjab to the gate, where the Lascar 
is looking into the alley. Dr. Hodder and the nurse 

[167] 



1 



BROOD HOUSE 



cross over to sit side by side at L. C, where she ap- 
parently reads her notes to him from a small hook.] 

Frederic. [After a painful pause.] Yvonne, I — 
I wish you were going too. [Brood glances quickly at 
her.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Her hand on Fredericks head.] 
Who knows.'* I may follow you on the fastest ship 
that sails. If I should, I will wave to you as I pass 
by. Unless we should pass in the night. 

Lydia. Do you mean that, Yvonne.'' Will you 
cross.'' 

Mrs. Brood. I have given it no thought, my 
dear. It was an idle speech. We are all in a playful 
mood to-day. [A spasm of pain crosses her face. 
Brood looks at her steadily and then goes up to Ranjah 
and the two old men.] 

Nurse. [Cautiously.] Dr. Hodder, I'd like to 
ask why it is that Mrs. Brood is not accompanying 
us.'' 

Hodder. My dear Miss Oliver, there are a great 
many questions I should like to ask, but I don't 
ask 'em. 

Nurse. She is so pretty and so sad — at times — 
and so gay at others. I'm sure she'd like to go. 

Hodder. [Irrelevantly.] What did he have for 
breakfflct ? 

f 168I 



BROOD HOUSE 



[Exit Ranjab, Brood, Riggs and Dawes at 
door R.] 

Frederic. Yvonne, we all understand each other 
once more. 

Mrs. Brood. That may be, but we don't quite 
understand ourselves. We won't talk about it, 
please. I am not going on the cruise. That ends it. 

Lydia. The Gunnings have asked you time and 
again. They must think it strange. 

Mrs. Brood. [As Dr. Hodder and the nurse exit 
at R.] My dear, if the Gunnings knew the part I 
played in our — our little tragedy, they, at least, 
would n't understand. 

Frederic. But they'll never know. And, hang 
it all, Yvonne, Lydia and I won't be happy unless 
you come to our — our wedding. It's bad enough 
to go away and leave you behind. 

Lydia. Yvonne, I love you — you know that, 
don't you.^ 

Mrs. Brood. Yes, Lydia. But — but this is 
very painful. I have never asked to be allowed to 
go. You know that, don't you.^ I've never asked. 

Frederic. It isn't too late! We can hold the 
boat for — 

Mrs. Brood. Frederic, listen to me. You know, 
[169] 



BROOD HOUSE 



both of you, what I have done and what I tried to 
do and failed. You know the story. We — we won't 
go into that. You understand and you — you love 
me — as I love you. I tried to take you away from 
James Brood through the agency of hate. Hatred 
failed. It was because I could not hate well enough. 
You take him, Lydia, through love. That's the 
difference. Real love, not the false love that I 
played my game with. It has all turned out well 
for you, my dears. It has turned out better for me 
than might have been expected. I am not dis- 
graced, not despised. I might have been. James 
Brood has not yet compelled me to pay. He — 

Frederic. He knows that you saved me. Yvonne, 
he is a fair man, a square man. You have seen how he 
has changed toward me. I am his son. He loves me. 
He will do anything in the world that I ask. If you will 
go with us, I '11 see that he asks you this — [starts to rise.] 

Mrs. Brood. No! You don't understand. I 
could not go that way. It would be you, not he that 
would want me. You see, I — I can't go that way. 

Frederic. For — for my mother's sake, he'd — 

Mrs. Brood. Don't! I don't want him to do 
anything for your mother's sake. I am Therese — 
not Matilde. 

Lydia. You mean.'' 

[170] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Mrs. Brood. That I am no longer fighting for 
Matllde. I am Therese! Do you understand? 
Lydia. You — you love him for — for yourself.'* 
Mrs. Brood. I love that man! I love him. No, 
you can't understand. Nobody can. I don't un- 
derstand myself. That's why I could n't tell him 
so, even if he'd permit me. There is a barrier. We 
— we are both afraid. He is afraid of me — I of 
him. No, you cannot understand. So, I shall go 
my way and he his. He loved the Matilde that was 
in me. The Matilde has gone out. I am Therese 
now — I have been for weeks. The thing that he 
loved in me is gone. I cannot bring it back. I can- 
not lure him now. I am Therese. 

Frederic. It's a shame. You don't deserve it. 
Mrs. Brood. [Smiling.] Women very seldom get 
what they deserve. 

Frederic. I don't see how my father can help 
loving you. Think what you've done! 

Mrs. Brood. That is n't it. He's got you back, 
Frederic. You are his son. He has given everything 
to you. Well, that is something of a triumph for 
me, at any rate. Or a triumph for poor Matilde, I 
should say. It was she — dead and gone loved one 
— who triumphed. That's the power of love. He 
loves her more than ever. I am Therese. 

[171] 



4 



BROOD HOUSE 



Lydia. What are you going to do? 

Mrs. Brood. He has done me the honor not to 
turn me out into the street. Shall I go of my own 
accord.'* Perhaps I shall. Why should I stay.'* I 
said that I would stay here, Frederic, until you were 
well. He has not asked me to leave, nor has he asked 
me to stay. I suppose, as a woman of any delicacy, 
I should understand his silence — and go. I should 
not force him to remind me that you are well. 

Frederic. Yvonne, — I can't call you Therese — 
I'm going to talk to dad. lam! He's a strange man 
— a hard man — but he is a man. He's got the 
biggest heart in the world. He can't close it to 
you — and you alone. I — 

Mrs. Brood. My dear Frederic, — son of my 
sister, — a man's heart is not to be opened by an- 
other man. That's a woman's work. Now, let's talk 
of something else. We've gone over this for weeks. 
We can't mend matters. I am satisfied. I — I shall 
take my — as you Americans say — take my medi- 
cine. It is n't so bitter, after all, now that I know you 
are to be happy all your life. You and Lydia. And 
Matilde is justified. And James is satisfied. And I 
am a virtuous wife and a virtuous step-mother and 
a virtuous mother-in-law. I am an old woman now, 
to sit by the fire. But I'll never prattle! 

[172] 



BROOD HOUSE 



[Enter through gate, the manservant and the 
chauffeur, who proceed to carry the bags, etc., out 
into the alley. \ 

Mrs. Brood. Well, there goes the last of you — 
almost. Your bags out to the wagon. What a lot 
of them! The motor will soon be whisking you 
away. [Suddenly tense and serious.] Listen! Before 
any one comes out — before the Gunnings come — 
I want to say good-by. Quietly! We must not have 
a scene. We'll be very matter-of-fact about it. 

Lydia. Oh, this is a terrible way to — 

Frederic. You won't go to the dock, Yvonne? 

Mrs. Brood. No! There's salt enough in the 
river without my tears being added. Come! Your 
hands! There! I love you both. Be happy! God 
bless you. No kisses! No! 

Frederic. You are a strange woman. 

Mrs. Brood. When next we meet — well, I shall 
not be the only Mrs. Brood. 

Frederic. We'll be back some day. A year or so, 
that's all. You'll be here.? 

Mrs. Brood. I am not going to leave this house 
unless I am turned out, Frederic. Do you hear? 
He will have to turn me out as he did my sister. 

Frederic. Then you'll stay forever, Yvonne. 

[173] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Lydia. [Kisses her hand.] I must! You gave him 
back to me. 

Mrs. Brood. He was never mine to give. He 
came back to you from up there. [Looking up.] 
From a clear, pure, blue sky, my dear. 

Frederic. Here is father. Leave us here alone — 
please! 

Mrs. Brood. Frederic! Not one word to him. 
I can take care of myself. 

[Enter Brood R., stopping up as the two women 
pass hiniy going out.] 

Brood. Lydia, we will start in a few minutes. 
[Exit Mrs. Brood and Lydia, R.] 

Brood. [Coming down.] Well, my boy, how are 
you holding up.^ Is the excitement upsetting you.'' 

Frederic. Not in the least. I'm eager to be oflF. 
See here, dad, why can't we take Yvonne? I don't 
like the idea of leaving her. That — er — that's all 
past, dad. You have said yourself that you don't 
blame her any longer. She's only human. She 
wanted to pay you out for a wrong you'd done — 
you see, don't you? But, it's over. She would 
have had a devilish revenge, but — instead of 
that she — 

[174] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. [Raising a hand.] My son, I'll tell you 
something that I have n't quite told to her. I fell 
in love with her once because an influence not her 
own overcame me. You may understand what I 
mean. There was something of your mother in her. 
It forged to the front and I felt it, but did not know. 
It was that part of Yvonne that I came to love — 
the part that brought back your mother to me. It 
was — I know it was — the spirit of Matilde that 
drew me to her. Well, that has gone. She is not 
the same. The illusion is gone. Now she is — 
Therese. My boy, she is not the woman I loved 
two months ago. She — 

Frederic. Nor am I the one you hated two 
months ago. I am your son. She is your wife. 

Brood. There never has been a time when I 
really hated you. I tried to, but — but — well, 
that's all over. About Yvonne; she is not the same. 
She is a marvelous woman. I could not hate her. 
I have tried even that. But — I don't love her. 
I did when she looked at me with Matilde's eyes 
and spoke with Matilde's voice. But — she is not 
the same. 

Frederic. Give her a chance, dad! Don't 
harden your heart against her. Dad, I know you'll 
come to care for her as Therese. Just give her a 

[175] 



BROOD HOUSE 



chance. You'll regret it If you don't. Hang it all, 
you're not an old man. You're less than fifty. 
Your heart has n't dried up yet. Your blood's still 
hot. And she is glorious! Don't leave her here, 
dad! 

Brood. That's it, my boy. I am not old. I am 
younger than I was fifteen years ago. That's what 
I'm afraid of. She could play with me — yes, she 
could! Don't stare! She could make a fool of me 
if I gave her a chance. And she — she never could 
love me as I want to be loved. [Goes up stage in 
some agitation. Frederic looks after him and then 
Sfniles.] 

[Voices are heard inside the house ^ and then Dr. 
Hodder appears^ followed by Mr. and Mrs. Gun- 
ningy Lydia and Mrs. Brood. Ranjah and the 
nurse stop on the steps^ as the others come down. 
The Gunnings are attired for motoring. Ranjah 
now wears a hat and carries a small bag and 
Brood's hat and coat.] 

Gunning. [Shaking Brood^s hand.] Well, all 
ready.? Ship ahoy, there, Freddie! How are you."* 
[Comes down and shakes Fredericks hand.] 

Mrs. Gunning. We'll have you in a deck chair 
in less than an hour, old chap. I say, Mr. Brood, 

[176] 



BROOD HOUSE 



did n't you say anything about a champagne cock- 
tail before we start? Well, this is before we start. 

Brood. The butler has them all ready, Maisie. 
Here they come. [Ranjah gives him his hat and holds 
his coat for him as — 

[Enter Parker with trayful of champagne cock- 
tails — Riggs and Dawes following close behind. 
As the drinks are being passed Riggs and Dawes 
deliberately remove their blue ribbons.] 

HoDDER. Here! None of that, Mr. Riggs. 

Riggs. Just one little one, Jim. That won't hurt. 
Champagne's the only thing that keeps me from 
getting seasick. 

Dawes. Aw, now, Jim, you won't object to just 
this once. I — I want to drink a silent toast to — 
er — somebody. 

Riggs. A lady he met at Monte Carlo. By 
Jove, Dawes, I 'm your friend. You sha 'n't drink to 
her alone. [Brood motions for the servant to pass the 
glasses to the old men.] 

Gunning. Well, here's to those we leave behind 
— may they soon catch up ! 

Frederic. Here's to a heart of gold! [Drinks to 
Mrs. Brood.] 

[177 1 



BROOD HOUSE 



Mrs. Brood. And here's to the heart that's 
cold! [Dri7iks without looking at Brood. They all 
drink except Ranjah and the servants.] 

Gunning. Where's your car, Mr. Brood .^ Let's 
be off. We can clear in an hour. Steam's up and 
luncheon's ready on board. The rest of the party's 
there by this time. Say, Hodder, will you and Miss 
Desmond come with us.? Machine's out in front. 
Sorr)'- you're not coming, Mrs. Brood. I daresay 
you intend to join us in — er — in Vienna. 

Mrs. Brood. [Smiling.] If not, Mr. Gunning, 
I trust that we may meet in heaven. Good-by and 
— good luck! Take care of my — children! 

Mrs. Gunning. That's what we're taking Dr. 
Hodder along for. Dr. Hodder, I have dreadful 
news for you. Old Mrs. Van Blossom is going to 
have Dr. Bosworth cut out her appendix to-morrow. 
She says she can't wait for you and she says you'll 
lose a lot of trade, going away like this. 

Hodder. I don't see how. She's got but one 
appendix, I'm reliably informed. Come along. Miss 
Lydia. Miss Oliver, see that Frederic has a com- 
fortable seat in the car — and, Mr. Brood, don't 
let your man run too fast. Good-by, Mrs. Brood. 
See you — er — see you soon. 

Mrs. Brood. You will return long before the 

[178] 



BROOD HOUSE 



others, Dr. Hodder. [In an aside to him.] For 
God's sake, Doctor, don't let anything happen to 
spoil — spoil life for either of them. 

HoDDER. [Shaking her hand.] We are leaving 
our best life preserver behind. 

RiGGS. Here's the automobile. Say, is that our 
taxi down there.? Why the devil does n't he back up 
to the gate.? [He and Dawes shake hands with Mrs. 
Brood ceremoniously and exit at the gate, passing the 
chauffeur, who stands aside. Mrs. Brood goes up 
with Frederic and Lydia — each with an arm about 
her, the nurse wheeling the chair to one side and leav- 
ing it.) 

Frederic. Good-by, chair. [At the gate, he 
kisses Mrs. Brood and passes out, Lydia also kissing 
her before she crosses to R., to follow Dr. Hodder and 
the Gunnings off.] 

Mrs. Gunning. [Lingering.] God bless you, 
Yvonne. I am sorry you are not going with us. If 
you change your mind, won't you join us on the 
other side — soon? 

Mrs. Brood. Thank you, Maisie. If — if I 
change my mind, yes! Good-by! 

[Exit Mrs. Gunning.] 

[Re-enter Ranjab.] 
[179] 



1 



BROOD HOUSE 



Ran JAB. [To Brood.] Mr. Frederic is ready, 
master. 

Brood. [Jt center. — Mrs. Brood standing up, 
looking at him steadily.] Wait for me out there, 
Ranjab. 

[Exit Ranjab — with a hard stare at Mrs. Brood.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Coming down, quietly.] Good-by, 
James. 

Brood. [After a long pause.] Yvonne, they all 
want me to take you along with us. 

Mrs. Brood. I don't see how that is possible. 

Brood. It is n't possible. 

Mrs. Brood. That is why I think it is better 
that I should not go to the yacht to say — good-by. 

Brood. [Nervously.] We've threshed it all out, 
in our own way, Yvonne, you and I. We under- 
stand each other. Before I go, I want to tell you 
this: I haven't the least feeling of resentment 
toward you. I can now look calmly back upon 
what you would have done without a single thought 
of condemnation. As I said to you last night, you 
had what you considered to be a just cause. You 
failed to accomplish your end — 

Mrs. Brood. But I accomplished something 
much better, James. You must admit that my 
failure was a success, after all. 

[i8o] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. Yes. It was. And you have faced the 
result with the finest courage I have ever seen. 
You have stood by your guns. I like courage — I 
like the man or woman who can smile in the face of 
defeat — who can admit defeat and not ask for 
mercy. 

Mrs. Brood. Go on. I am waiting for you to 
turn me out of the house. This is the psychological 
moment. We have led up to it nicely. 

Brood. I can't turn you out of my house — I 
never could have done that. If you choose to go of 
your own accord, I will not interpose an objection. 
That's all. 

Mrs. Brood. Do you want me to go or to stay? 

Brood. I want you to stay. 

Mrs. Brood. I am a wife — don't forget that. 

Brood. And I am your husband. I don't want 
you to forget that. I don't intend that you shall 
ever forget that you are bound to me — that you 
are my property — if it is in my power to help it. 

Mrs. Brood. You are a very real man. 

Brood. I took you for better or for worse and 
I'll try to keep you. I know you are a good woman. 
I don't believe that you have ever loved me, that's 
all. Better women than you have not loved their 
husbands, however. 

[i8i] 



BROOD HOUSE 



I 



Mrs. Brood. Do you love me.'* 

Brood. No. Not now. 

Mrs. Brood. You did. That much I know. 
And you know that there are times when I loved you 
in spite of myself. Well, James, I am ready to con- 
fess that I do love you now — all the time. This is 
no time for hysterics. I sha'n't moan and tremble 
and plead. I am not that kind. There is a time for 
deadly earnestness. We have found out all there 
is to know about each other. I love you with all 
my soul. Still, I am ready to go without a word if 
you tell me to do so. 

Brood. I have loved you, Yvonne. There was 
never in this world anything like it. You — you 
could have stirred the heart of a stone man. 

Mrs. Brood. Ah, I was but playing at love then, 
James. Now I would be in earnest. Now I would 
show you what real love is. You've never even 
guessed it before. I found months ago that you had 
the power to love magnificently. It was the power 
to love nobly. It came over me time and again that 
you, in your heart, could not have been cruel to my 
sister. There must have been something in you 
that could make her love you to the day of her 
death. Of late I have come to the conviction that 
Matilde could have won out against you if she had 

[182] 



BROOD HOUSE 



been stronger, less conscious of the pain she felt. 
She could have set you straight, James, if she had 
stood her ground — here! If she had stayed in spite 
of you and fought you — here! Then, you would 
have gone down before her — for you were always 
a beaten man, and you knew it. But she did not 
have the strength to stand and fight — as I would 
have stood and fought. Ah, you know that! 

Brood. There never would have been a mistake 
of that kind — with us, Yvonne. 

Mrs. Brood. Never! Well, it comes down to 
this: I love you now and you do not love me. 
More than once have I whispered to the Buddha up 
there that I love you — more than once, even when 
I was seeking to give you the direst pain. The 
tables are turned. I am your wife, but — you see, 
you are not my husband at heart. James, I want 
you to love me again, for myself — for Therese, 
not because the blood of Matilde is warm within 
me. I want to fight now to get back the love I once 
played with and despised. Can I hope for that, 
James? Answer at once. I sha 'n't keep you waiting. 

Brood. [Taking her hands and looking straight 
into her eyes — seriously.] Yvonne, I will be frank 
with you. I am a deliberate man. I am not likely 
to be fooled twice. You fooled me once. I have not 

[183] 



i 



BROOD HOUSE 



forgotten my lesson. There is n't a woman on God's 
earth that I admire more than I admire you. There 
is no other woman like you. I won't say that I 
could not love you. I don't know. You are not 
the same. You are the real woman now. I have 
taken the blow you gave and I have suffered and I 
have found a measure of joy in all that has come out 
of it. But I am not happy. I am not sure in my 
heart that I am doing the right thing — in leaving 
you behind. You saved his life after I deliberately 
sought to — to kill him. Ah, my son! 

Mrs. Brood. I do not forget that I was recklessly 
intent upon injuring his soul by subtler means than 
you employed — although I would not have be- 
lieved it at the time. 

Brood. That is past and gone. It was your mis- 
sion. The world may suspect, but it does not know 
the true story of that ugly night in March. You and 
I know, and Frederic and Lydia. Ranjab knows. 
No one else. The world will think it strange that 
you are left behind while the rest of us fly away to 
pleasant lands — to the marriage altars and shadow- 
less days. And yet I have decided — that you are 
not to go. 

Mrs. Brood. [Straight and defiant.] Yes. That 
is decided. 

[184] 



BROOD HOUSE 



Brood. Will you stay here, Yvonne? In this 
house? 
Mrs. Brood. You ask me to? 
Brood. No. I command you to. 
Mrs. Brood. As a — prisoner, paying a penalty, 

— serving her time. 

Brood. Serving my time. A year — a year and 
a half, that means. In this house — not outside in 
the world, but in this house. A prisoner — yes, 
but a voluntary prisoner. If you are here when I 
come back, then I'll know that your love is real. 
I'll know it, then. Now, I am afraid! I have been 
fooled. 

Mrs. Brood. [Slowly.] James Brood, I will be 
here when you come back. Your prisoner — here. 

Brood. [Calmly.] Then, Yvonne, we will talk 
of love — if there is love. 

Mrs. Brood. Yes. Now go. No, I don't expect 
you to kiss me. Good-by, James. Good luck and 

— Godspeed ! 

Brood. [Holding her hand.] Good-by. 

Mrs. Brood. I will go with you as far as the 
gate of my prison. [The honk-honk of the motor is 
heard.] They are impatient to take you away. 
Good-by. 

Brood. Good-by, — Therese ! 

[185] 



BROOD HOUSE 



[Exit Brood at gate. She stands there and 
waves her hand to those outside, who shout hack 
good-byes. Then the machine chugs, rumbles, 
and whirrs as it starts off — a distant honk-honk 
signifying its turn into the street. Mrs. Brood 
remains up stage J or a moment, looking off, then, 
with a glance about her, taking in the balcony. 
Brood's room, etc., she comes down, a confident 
smile gradually displacing the look of dejection.] 

Mrs. Brood. [Stopping C. and giving a com- 
prehensive gesture suggesting acquiescence to her entire 
surroundings.] Well, it is n't such a horrid prison, 
after all, even though it is little less than solitary 
confinement he has sentenced me to. I don't know 
any one here now but the servants, the dogs and 
the birds. He was careful to take all my acquaint- 
ances away with him. Ah, he is a clever man — he 
is a shrewd man. He will find out for himself. [Sits 
down on the edge of the fountain and reflects.] I can 
wait a year, ten years for him to come back. He is 
worth a woman's whole life time. I'll be lonely. 
Oh, how lonely I'll be. But I'll stay in prison. I'll 
scale no walls nor break any bars. I'll stay! [Tak- 
ing out her gold cigarette case and matches, she luxu- 
riously leans hack and lights a cigarette.] He does n't 

f 186I 



BROOD HOUSE 



take into account that he really loves me. It will 
be good for him to think of poor little me here all 
alone and unhappy and — afraid of my shadow in 
this big house. Men's hearts are funny things. 
They are tender in spite of themselves. He'll soon 
begin to pity me — all alone. I — I should n't be 
surprised if he cabled for me to come. [Smokes re- 
fiectively.] I'm not so sure of that. I think I'd love 
him all the more if he did n't! But he'll come back 
— some day. Ah, me! I can wait! 

[The hand-organ in the distance begins to play 
^^ La Paloma.^^ She smiles and puffs idly at her 
cigarette.] 



CURTAIN 

[End of Play.] 



[187] 



'Drr] 29 1910 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



